The Beast Within
by la-rubinita
Summary: Werewolves. Vampires. Spies. Secret societies. Love. Magic. Animagi. Prophecies. Ancient goddesses. Sacrifice.  More than just the Wizarding world hangs in the balance.  Will two unlikely partners have what it takes?  D/Hr AU after HBP.
1. The Hunt

Chapter 1

Fenrir Greyback was not a patient man, and the two Death Eater goons standing in front of the door at the end of the hallway, _probably Crabbe and Goyle_, were just as anxious for Greyback to be gone as he was himself, though for entirely different reasons. He had been waiting for over an hour, and had been struggling for some time now _not_ to rip the imbeciles' throats out and barge into the room. Knowing it would not be wise to interrupt the Dark Lord, for any reason, he resigned himself to pacing the length of the hall. It was obvious his restless movements made the Death Eaters uncomfortable. He noticed they both had their hands inside their robes, no doubt on their wands, but he didn't care. He could smell their fear. _Fear makes men careless_, he thought smugly.

As Greyback reached the end of the hall for the thousandth time that night, he heard the door slam open behind him. He spun around on his heel, an involuntary growl rumbling in his throat. The door had been opened with such force that it would have slammed shut once more if a petite black robed figure had not filled the doorway. Despite their diminutive stature, there was an air about the person that demanded attention and judging by the swinging hips and fast pace, it was Bellatrix Lestrange. Greyback never cared for the woman. She was a bit over the top, even for his tastes.

She strode furiously past Crabbe and Goyle without acknowledging their presence. Momentarily she was followed by an obscenely tall man, whom even with his silver mask, Greyback recognized immediately as the lunatic's husband, Rodolphus. Two more followed closely. A shock of white-blonde hair sneaking out from underneath his hood identified one as Lucius Malfoy, but he didn't recognize the last.

As Greyback strode towards the now open door, he noticed the anonymous Death Eater slowing his pace as he drew nearer. They paused upon reaching each other. Fenrir inhaled deeply, trying to identify the other by scent alone. _Dolohov_. The rough whisper from behind the mask confirmed this.

"Tread softly, Greyback. Our Lord is in a foul temperament this night." Without another word from either man, Dolohov hurried off, intent on catching up with Malfoy and the Lestranges.

Fenrir growled again. _When isn't the Dark Lord in a foul mood?_ The nights when it was necessary for him to speak with Voldemort were often the nights he most appreciated being a werewolf. Even as a man he was clever and cunning, but because he was mostly driven by barely checked instincts and base, primal needs, his animalistic thoughts were unreadable, even unto the most skilled Legilimens. Because of this Voldemort trusted Greyback only for the werewolf's bloodlust and hatred. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Well, maybe not friend…_

Crabbe and Goyle moved quickly out of the way this time, knowing that to hesitate would be fatal. As soon as he crossed the threshold, a rasping voice spoke his name.

"Greyback." The Dark Lord was sitting in a lush, high-backed chair near the fireplace. It was the only source of light in the small chamber. Nagini was a mountain of scales piled up at Voldemort's feet basking in what little warmth the small fire provided.

The sound of his name being spoken by Lord Voldemort almost stopped him in his tracks. Without much surprise, he realized that he _hated_ it. It sounded like the crackle of electricity and it made his hackles rise uncomfortably. However, his patience was at its limit; he wanted to get this over with and be gone. Thankfully, the Dark Lord was usually very succinct. He quickly covered the remaining distance to the green velvet chair. After kneeling to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes he spoke.

"Your Eminence, how might I be of service?" He remained kneeling and bowed, grateful that he would not have to meet the scarlet, cat-like eyes; they drove his instincts over the edge. There were not many things in this world that made Fenrir Greyback nervous, but those eyes were more than enough.

"Young mister Malfoy has eluded my grasp for far too long. While he has not received my Mark, he still knows too much. As it were, he is quite the liability." He paused and Greyback was trying to think of an adequate response, but then he continued, speaking more to himself this time than to the man kneeling at his feet. "He is just a boy, and yet those _fools_," he spat the word, "are incapable of ending this game." He turned his attention back to Greyback. "End this game of cat and mouse. Find him and kill him."

Greyback waited a breath to ensure that Lord Voldemort was done speaking. Sure that he was dismissed, he lowered his lips once more to the hem of his Lord's robes. "I will not fail you, My Lord." Quickly, he rose and strode from the room anxious to be away from the electricity that rolled off of Voldemort in waves in the same way that fear pulsed from Crabbe and Goyle.

He growled and fairly barked at whichever of the idiots was on his left. The Death Eater jumped back against the wall in fright. With a wolfish smirk he quickly exited the building into the crisp autumn night. It was about three weeks until the next full moon; Greyback decided to force the change. He had a feeling that he would need the wolf for this task.

With a howl of pain, he began the transformation. He had been a werewolf for the better part of forty years now, and he had been able to shift at will for the past fifteen, but he never, _ever_ got used to the pain that accompanied it. His skin felt like he'd been dropped into a vat of boiling oil. His muscles were shredded as his bones lengthened, were shattered and reformed. After a few short minutes that felt like an eternity, the pain subsided and he could feel his muscles stitching themselves back together around his new form. His bones were beginning to feel like the actually belonged in his body, so he dared movement. Once he was sure the transformation was complete, he sped off into the night with an excited howl. Even the wolf knew where to begin looking for the whelp.

While Draco Malfoy had only been on the run for a little over a year, it felt like a lifetime. Both sides of this damned war were out for his blood. The Ministry, as well as Potter and his bloody Order wanted him for setting in motion the events that led to the death of Albus Dumbledore, while Voldemort wanted his hide for not finishing what he started. He was a hunted man and it was wearing him down.

It was even worse now that he was more or less on his own. In the beginning, Professor Snape had been with him, but he eventually had to return to Voldemort. While Snape was still very active in hiding Draco, most of their communications were not done in person. Voldemort had the lunatic Lestranges, Antonin Dolohov, and Draco's own father on the hunt. Several times they had almost caught him. That's why Draco and Snape almost never met in person anymore. There had been too many close calls.

For this reason, Draco was greatly shocked when he received an owl from Snape less than an hour ago saying they needed to meet. Whatever news the Potions master must have been extremely important and/or dangerous if he did not feel safe writing it in a letter.

His curiosity piqued Draco took a cold shower to wake him up and began packing his meager possessions. They were few, but he would most likely be leaving this hole tonight and he wanted to keep what little he had. A small shaving kit from the bathroom, an extra shirt and an extra pair of socks from the floor and a book on defensive spells he'd knicked from Flourish and Blotts on the bedside table were all shoved unceremoniously into a beaten dragon hide messenger sack that used to be a deep green, but had faded to a brownish-olive color. Double checking that his wand was in his robes' pocket, he flung his cloak over his shoulders and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

While the Muggle hotel he'd been staying in this week was definitely sub-par, even for Malfoy's lowered standards, at least it was warm. Months on the run had left his clothes as worse for the wear as himself. His threadbare cloak did little to protect him from the chill autumn wind that swept down the deserted street. He pulled his hood securely over his shaggy platinum blonde hair and began slipping stealthily from shadow to shadow between pools of unsteady lamplight, stealthily making his way towards Knockturn Alley. Snape gave him no more information than the time and location of their rendezvous.

Several minutes later, Draco found himself a good ways down Knockturn Alley, approaching the storefront across the way from where he was supposed to meet Snape. Thankfully, more than half of the streetlamps were not in proper working condition, making it much easier for Draco to travel undetected. When he reached the storefront he silently slipped into the shadowed alcove to await his former Head of House. Not a full minute later did Draco hear a soft _pop_. Snape even Apparated stealthily.

While Fenrir did not always remember what the wolf had done, the wolf _always_ remembered what the man had done. He supposed it was better this way. While he enjoyed his actions as the wolf, he suspected that to recall every gory detail as the man would keep even the likes of Voldemort awake at night.

However, this night was different. Tonight, man and wolf had a goal, a mission to accomplish. Equally important was the fact that tonight was not a full moon. Because of this, the man would not be lost to the monster; because of this, the man could and would retain almost complete control over his other half. Tonight the wolf was a pawn, a means to an end.

His mission: kill the blood-traitor coward. He would not fail his master as others had. He would succeed. He could already taste the whelp's blood.

Greyback had known where to begin his search. While it was true that Draco Malfoy could be just about anywhere in the world, wizarding or Muggle, he had a pretty good idea where to begin. _Snape_, the man thought inside the wolf's head. He had never trusted the slimy git. He was too skilled at Occlumency. True, Voldemort trusted him implicitly, but the wolf's animalistic instincts, which the man embraced fervently, were not so easily persuaded. Severus Snape was hiding something and Greyback knew it.

He had been running full out for almost half an hour when he saw a dim light breaking through some trees up ahead. He had not wanted to risk Apparition; it would not do to alert the quarry of the hunter's presence to early in the chase. Excitement grasped at his already speeding heart, but he forced the wolf to slow his pace and approach cautiously.

About ten meters away from the small cottage, the wolf raised his scarred and grizzled snout and began sifting through the night's scents. _Wood, moss, wet leaves, smoke, man, magic…dark, dank musk, wet stone, hellsbore, mandrake root…Snape_.

Satisfied that Snape was the only one in the cottage, Greyback positioned himself so that he could watch the traitor rush about the small room. He moved as close to the window as he dared, which was rather near considering the state Snape was in. Something had _definitely_ upset the normally stone-faced Death Eater.

Suddenly, startling both man, wolf, and professor, a woman's voice, rife with emotion was heard loud and clear, apparently unattached to any visible body.

"Severus."

Quickly composing himself, he returned to his bustling without acknowledging the woman. Once he had moved to the back of the room and away from the fireplace, Greyback saw something he had not expected. In the middle of the flames was floating, unscathed, the head of Narcissa Malfoy. Had it not been for the long blonde hair that was so much like her husband's, he might not have recognized her. Her once stunning features had become dull and grey, and her eyes were so full of pain and grief that she looked as if she'd aged twenty years in the past fifteen months.

"What is it Narcissa?" his reply was cold, but not cruel. "I'm rather engaged at the moment."

"Severus," she repeated. Something in her voice, desperation perhaps, caught his attention, because he stopped in his tracks and turned towards the fireplace.

"Lucius has just come home in a foul mood. He was ranting on and on about Draco."

His feet carried him closer to the fireplace of their own accord. Now she really had his attention. "What about him? Have they found him?" If he'd been trying to mask the concern in his voice, he'd failed miserably.

"No, but I'm afraid the news isn't much better," she continued ignoring the hitch in her voice. "He said he'd just had a meeting with the Dark Lord along with Bella, Rodolphus and Antonin. He said that they had all been removed from the search."

Greyback could only see half of Snape's face from his angle, but he was positive that he witnessed pure shock cross the other man's gaunt features, blue eyes wide with surprise.

"I- wh- how- who- _why?_" Snape stuttered, unable to form a complete sentence. The news had clearly thrown him. Narcissa continued, ignoring his non-reply.

"He did not say and none of them were fool enough to ask, thank Merlin."

"Is he calling of the search?"

"Lucius wasn't told anything but…" she hesitated.

"Well, out with it!" Snape shouted impatiently.

"Fenrir Greyback was waiting in the hall when they were leaving." She blurted out the statement in one breath, as if it would make it easier to say or to be heard. She finally let out a wretched sob as the Potions Master absorbed the information.

If it were possible, his face became even paler. He was quite as white as a sheet. There was a moment where Greyback could see the struggle on Snape's face. He was trying desperately to return his stony façade. Mission accomplished he said in an even voice, "I will not forget my oath. Go now, before Lucius catches you. I'll owl you when I can."

With noting more than a slight nod of assent, the head of Narcissa Malfoy vanished. Immediately, Snape moved over to a small desk in the corner. After ridding his hands of the sever phials of shimmering silver liquid he'd been holding, he grabbed a quill and parchment and began writing.

After writing two short notes and one longer letter, he folded the two short notes in half and then rolled them into thin cylinders, tapping each in turn with his wand to seal them. He grabbed one of the phials and walked the short distance to the only other window in the room. The tawny owl that was perched on its stand stretched its wings and hooted in anticipation.

Snape placed one of the letters in the bird's beak, commanding, "Draco Malfoy first," he tied the other along with the phial to the bird's left leg, "Remus Lupin second." Having been given its directions, the owl flew off into the night.

Returning to his desk, he opened the top drawer and removed a small, black letterbox. He unlocked it with a swish of his wand. After removing a folded bit of parchment sealed with gold wax and placing it safely within his robes along with the last letter, he placed the remaining glass jars into the letterbox and restored the locking charms. Once the box was secure within the desk, he looked around the room, searching. His gaze settled on a smallish basket on the mantle. He grabbed an apple and made for the exit. After turning at the door, he extinguished the fire and stepped out into the night.

Greyback watched all of this with mild fascination. What intrigued him the most was Snape writing a letter to Lupin. Besides the fact that Lupin belonged to the Order and Snape was a Death Eater wanted for murder, he was also quite sure the two had hated each other since their Hogwarts' days.

But those thoughts were for another time, another place. Quick and silent as a thought, the werewolf crept around towards the entrance to the cottage. He peeked his head around the corner in time to witness the shadow that was Severus Snape Disapparate with a soft _pop_.

There was only one thing that brought Greyback more pleasure than ripping Muggles to shreds: hunting wizards. The chase was so much more exciting. And, he loved it when they Apparated, under the impression that he could not follow. Most wizards didn't know that Apparition left a trail of magic as clear as footprints in the snow for a werewolf to follow. True, most werewolves didn't possess the mental control necessary to Apparate in their bestial form, but he was no ordinary werewolf. Every wizard left behind their own unique magic, like a fingerprint, like a scent. He could _smell_ their magic. He could smell _Snape's_ magic.

Inhaling deeply to familiarize himself with Snape, he Disapparated. The hunt was on.

Snape was, by nature, a cautious man. In fact, most people would consider him paranoid. The way he saw it, at least he was still alive. He couldn't say the same for others. Originally he had planned on going directly to Knockturn Alley to meet Malfoy, but that sixth sense that had saved his life more times than could have been counted sent a shiver up his spine as soon as he'd walked out the door. Someone was watching him.

The overly cautious half of his being warred with the terribly impatient half. He needed to get to Malfoy _immediately,_ but it just wouldn't do to be followed. Caution won out; Draco's life meant his own. Sighing in frustration, he lined up seven different and completely random locations in his mind before beginning his journey.

His hope was that by the time he'd reached the second or third location, the feeling of being followed would have abated; whoever it was having been left behind or splinched in his efforts to keep up. However, by the fourth stop, the empty alley behind Zonko's Joke Shoppe in Hogsmeade, he was quite sure that he'd actually heard the other's _crack_ of Apparition the instant before he Disapparated to the next location. To his immense shock, it would seem as though his pursuer was actually _gaining_ on him instead of being left behind.

Besides shock, there was also no small amount of confusion swirling about in Snape's head as well. With the exception of Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort, Snape could not think of one single wizard in all of England who would have been able to keep pace with his constant Apparition. _Maybe_ _Potter_, he thought. _Since his coming of age, his power had increased at an alarming rate_. But Snape knew for a fact that the infamous Boy-Who-Lived was currently traipsing about somewhere in Ireland looking for something that he most likely would not find.

After the tenth, or maybe it was the eleventh, Apparition, Severus realized that he had not heard his pursuer's tell-tale _crack_. He severely hoped that he'd lost them. Wizards were not meant to Apparate like this and Snape could fell his strength ebbing. Whether he'd completely lost whoever was chasing him through the cold autumn night or not was irrelevant. If he did not get to Knockturn Alley soon, not only would he be late and risk Draco leaving, but he needed enough energy to finish the night with both of their lives in tact.

His decision was made: Knockturn Alley it was.

For caution's sake, Draco waited until the Potions Master had glided to the empty store across the way and slipped into his own shadow before revealing his presence. He stepped out into the dim light, trademark Malfoy smirk in place.

"You're late, Professor." It had been so long since Draco had had someone to antagonize that he couldn't help himself. Despite their desperate circumstances and the fact that Snape _never_ rose to the bait, it felt good to say it.

Unfazed, Snape proceeded. He was obviously in a hurry. "I fear I was followed, we don't have much time." It was Snape's turn to smirk; he loved denying Malfoy his childish banter. Quickly he pulled what looked like an apple (it was dark, so Draco couldn't be sure) out of his robes and set it on the ground. His wand having already been drawn at Draco's approach was now pointed at the apple.

Clearly, Snape incanted, "_Portus,"_ with a gentle flick of his wand. Crouching down, but not touching the apple he said, "On three, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco was about to do as he was bid when he heard a loud _crack_ behind him. He spun around, startled, but his face showed nothing. Before Draco could think or say anything, he heard a low growl about ten meters away. It was right about the same place he'd witnessed Snape's arrival not two minutes ago.

"I think you were followed, Professor." Draco attempted to hide his fear with the snide remark.

"_Lumos," _Snape whispered. Draco blinked rapidly, forcing his eyes to adjust to the new light. What the spell revealed caused him to stop breathing. It was like oxygen simply ceased to exist. He was getting lightheaded. He had been scared before. He had been scared on top of the astronomy tower that fateful night. He had been scared when he heard his own father cast Avada Kedavra at him. He had been scared before; now he was terrified.

Snape, however, seemed unimpressed. "Greyback," he sneered. He was pointing his lit wand at the werewolf. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to figure this out. I was led to understand that you had only been ordered to do this earlier this evening. You have my congratulations. Those idiots still haven't figured it out. Or, maybe they just don't want to accept the truth."

It would have sounded like banter to the untrained ear, but Draco knew his professor better than that. Snape was stalling. The realization that neither of them knew what they were going to do only served to deepen his terror. If it weren't for his Malfoy upbringing, he would be panicking right now. Hell, _anyone_ would be panicking right now. There was a bloody _werewolf_ hunting them.

However, Snape's attempt to buy them time went unheeded as the werewolf lunged at Draco before he even realized it was coming. He hadn't even had time to raise his wand in defense.

Greyback closed the space between them in two giant leaps and pinned Draco to the ground. What air had been in his lungs was forced out as the weight of the beast bore him to the cobblestone pavement. He still could not quite believe what was happening. All of those years of training simply abandoned him when he needed it the most. He felt teeth sink into his shoulder. He screamed out in agony, fire ripping through his torso as the wolf clamped down against Draco's struggles and scratched his chest with razor sharp claws.

"_Impedimenta!"_ He heard Snape cast the spell, but it sounded like it was a mile away. He was vaguely aware that the oppressive weight on his chest was gone. He rolled over coughing, and saw Snape battling with the obscenely huge monster.

He was a powerful wizard, but he was no match for the werewolf. By nature they were resistant to magic, but the Potions Master was fighting valiantly. The stunning spells he was casting were slowing the werewolf down a bit, but really they were only making him that much more angry.

Drawing strength from some unknown reserve, Draco pushed himself up so that he was kneeling. Snape was fighting, but he was losing having spent so much energy trying to lose Greyback earlier. He had to do something.

Finally the creature had its chance and it took it. Snape had stumbled slightly on a loose cobble, and Greyback was on him in a heartbeat. The sound of flesh ripping was enough to make him nauseous, but he ignored it. He had to do _something_. Before he could stop it, a scream escaped Draco's lips.

"Nooooo!"

The werewolf dropped the limp body that was Snape with a sickening thud. He turned to the boy, who was kneeling not far away. The man smiled, but Draco saw the wolf snarl.

Draco immediately regretted his lack of self control. _Acting like a sodding Gryffindor_, he thought sardonically. _I wonder what Potter would do?_ The thought was meant to be sarcastic, a jab at his emotional House rivals, but it triggered a memory. _Potter…sixth year…girls lavatory…_

"_Sectumsempra!"_

He shouted the curse before he completed the thought. He had not expected it to work; Snape was one of the best duelers he'd ever heard of and he was dead or dying just across the street.

The wolf had been close. So close in fact, that Draco felt the warm spray of blood on his chill face. The howl of pain the followed was ear piercing and Draco bowed over in pain, feeling the vibrations down to his very bones.

Then, with a _crack_, it was gone. He stayed where he was for a moment, letting the quiet sink in. His sharp, ragged breathing was the only sound in the darkened alley. With a groan, he began to crawl towards the unmoving shadow across the street. His whole being was burning in protest, but Snape was all he had left in this world.

When he finally got to him, he was fighting for consciousness. The ground was warm and sticky with the Potions Master's blood. He didn't want to look, but he had to survey the damage.

"_Lumos,"_ he whispered, wanting to make as little noise as possible. The dim light revealed the carnage. There were three deep slices from Snape's left ear across his face and hooked nose. He had narrowly missed having an eye put out. One of his arms had been ripped off. Ironically, it was _not_ the arm that was Marked. Despite the extreme loss of blood, Draco was shocked to see the shallow rising and falling of Snape's chest. He was _alive_.

A small groan slipped between his partially open lips. An instant later, his eyes shot open and he began coughing. His lips red with his own blood, his body convulsing, he turned to Draco and tried to speak, but all that came were more coughs and more blood.

Draco was horrified, but Snape was trying to tell him something, and he was dying right there in front of him. He raised his remaining arm and pulled on the blood soaked front of Draco's robes, drawing their faces together. Draco noticed that his mentor's eyes, which were once a penetrating icy blue, were beginning to haze over. He didn't have much time.

"Letters," he rasped, finally. Letting his head fall back to the slick ground, he closed his eyes. His grasp fell away as Severus Snape passed from the world of the living.

Before he could stop them, hot tears came unbidden to Draco's eyes and slid down his cheeks, leaving clean tracks through the gore that covered his face. He wiped them away angrily, smearing the blood and mixing it with the dirt from his hands. _Another person now_ _dead because of Draco Malfoy_. _This must be how Potter feels,_ he thought smugly. He realized that he didn't envy him at all.

_Letters._ Draco began to go through the pockets of Snape's robes, careful to avoid looking at his damaged face. He did not want to remember him this way. Ignoring the sticky-damp material, he plunged his hand into an interior breast pocket and found what he was looking for. He drew his hand out. There were two letters, both with his name on them. One was definitely written in Snape's hand and the other looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He opened the letter from Snape first.

_Draco,_

_If this letter is in your possession, then I am no doubt dead. In case I did not get the chance to speak with you properly, Fenrir Greyback is now in pursuit of you and not your father and his cronies. For this reason, I was going to take you to the last place he would look for you. The other letter is from Dumbledore and his instructions will be much clearer. Please take heed, and follow instructions for once in your life. The portkey will take you where you need to go._

_Good luck._

His mentor's voice echoing in his head, Draco calmly folded up the letter and placed it in his satchel. He opened the letter from Dumbledore, not knowing what to expect. The man had been dead for almost a year and a half, how could he have expected this letter to ever make it to him?

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_The fact that you are receiving this letter cannot bode well for you. I apologize for my inability to help you on your path, but I can at least offer you some protection. Go to 12 Grimmauld Place, London. The Order of the Phoenix Headquarters is located there. I know that you will most likely protest to the company, but if you present them with this letter, your safety will be assured, I promise you. I know you do not appreciate being told what to do, but I implore you, do this. Your life may depend on it._

_Good luck,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Draco held the letter with bloody hands simply staring at it for several moments. _Order Headquarters…the old codger was daft after all._ _But where else can I go?_ Finally he put the letter in his pocket with the other. He really didn't have any other option, the Slytherin within chided. He needed medical attention. He had been attacked by a werewolf, but St. Mungo's wasn't exactly an option. Too, there was always the chance that Greyback might come back…with reinforcements. His mind was growing fuzzy from the loss of blood. So far, adrenaline had kept the pain at bay, but he knew that it wouldn't last forever.

No sooner had he thought this did he hear four sharp _cracks_. He froze in the shadows, afraid of who might have been arriving in the middle of Knockturn Alley at this ungodly hour. He didn't have to wait long.

A flash of silver in the dim light. _Lucius._

"Draco," his father drawled, his voice low and melodic, wooing Draco to reveal himself.

"This is stupid, Lucius. Even if Greyback had found him, and he lived, do you think he'd still be hanging around this dank place? He's long gone by now, if he was ever here." The woman's voice was sharp with annoyance; he'd not heard her voice many times, but one did not easily erase the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's voice overnight. She was mad before they threw her in Azkaban, but now, in the shadows, Draco could _feel_ her insanity. He hoped desperately never to be on the wrong end of her wand.

He heard another gruff voice, but he couldn't make out the words. He silently drew out his wand, praying to Merlin that they would just leave.

"_Lumos."_

Suddenly, the alley was illuminated and Draco's decision was made for him.

"_Accio_ portkey!" he shouted grabbing Snape's hand. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

The street Draco arrived on was completely deserted, for which he was extremely grateful. He'd had enough excitement for one night, thank you. He attempted to stand, but his legs would not cooperate. He was still bleeding, and the impact of him falling across Snape's prone body caused a sharp new wave of pain followed by more gushing.

Groaning, he pushed himself back up onto his knees and looked at the grimy houses in front of him. The garbage that was piled up on the sidewalks stunk, and the only car parked on the road looked as if it would either fall apart or explode if one felt inclined to move it. The house numbers were just visible in the lamplight, and his eyes eventually made their way to number eleven. When his gaze fell between number eleven and number thirteen, he swore he was losing his mind. He was quite sure that there had not been a house there a minute ago. However, there on the house, next to the door, was a large, black 12. Taking into account that the house appeared out of nowhere, he assumed this was his destination.

Pulling Snape's torso onto his lap, he wrapped his wand arm around his chest and began dragging the both of them towards the door. It was not far, but in his weakened state, it was torturous. Arduously, he made it to the bottom of the steps, but try as he might, he did not possess the strength to get himself and Snape up them. Leaving the body, he crawled up to the door and used the knob as leverage to pull himself up. He would not be seen _crawling_ to the Order; he would be standing if it killed him. He pulled Dumbledore's letter out before grasping at the silver, snake shaped knocker and banging it twice. _If they take any longer answering this damn door, I'm going to pass out right here on the porch._

Already his vision was blurring and he couldn't feel his arms except for the searing pain in his right shoulder. He'd hardly paid it any thought since it happened, but now, with safety within reach, his adrenaline was slowly ebbing away.

The door finally opened just in time for Draco to lose consciousness. Blissfully he fell into the darkness.

A/N: This is my first fanfic ever so please review! If it's terrible, you won't hurt my feelings, I promise.


	2. Arrivals and Departures

Chapter 2

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin as the ancient grandfather clock in the corner of the library dolefully declared the hour. _Shite_, she swore under her breath. It was midnight already. She hadn't realized how late it was. After a quiet meal in the kitchen with Tonks, she had retired with a hot cup of tea and a large stack of books, intent on being as useful as possible.

Being useless was not something Hermione Granger was accustomed to. However, during the four months since her release from Madame Promfrey's care, she felt as though she was just that. Sure, she and Harry owled constantly, exchanging clues and information, but she was a bloody _Gryffindor_. She should be out there _doing_, not in here _reading_.

Finally, the clock finished its sad proclamation, and Hermione gave a huff of frustration. She decided to abandon the musty tome in her lap. She laced her fingers together and raised her hands up above her head, pushing up towards the ceiling. As the muscles of her back and shoulders stretched, she could feel the scars that criss-crossed her once smooth flesh pull and resist the movement.

Not wanting to think about the night that landed her in this situation in the first place, she quickly brought her hands down to her face. She rubbed her eyes roughly, attempting to banish the fatigue straining them before it gave her a headache.

"I really should get to bed," she said aloud. Most of the time she spent at 12 Grimmauld Place, she spent alone, and her voice sounded eerie and misplaced in the deserted house.

The Order of the Phoenix still called the old mansion headquarters, so there were always people coming and going, but Hermione was the only one currently residing there and had been for some time. Sometimes members or refugees of the war would stay the night and she would get to play hostess alongside Mrs. Weasley. Other nights, the house would be full to bursting when there was a meeting. But, as busy and exciting as those nights were, they were simply not the same without Ron and Harry there to talk with afterwards. Almost every night since she came here in June found Hermione upstairs in the dark library with only tea and a stack of books, from both the Black and Hogwarts libraries, for company.

Harry and Ron had been gone since the day after they graduated from Hogwarts. She hadn't even been discharged yet when they left. She knew Harry blamed himself for what happened, just like she knew Ron wanted desperately to keep her from further harm, but she couldn't help but feel a bit resentful. She could take care of herself. Besides, they had been inseparable since they were eleven, the Golden Trio, but here she was, stuck at Grimmauld Place by herself while they ran about Ireland looking for the wand of Rowena Ravenclaw.

The rush of resentment the thoughts elicited was quickly washed out by a wave of guilt and anxiety. True, they owled almost everyday, but it was all business. She hadn't seen _them_ in four months, but they hadn't seen _anyone_. They were out there risking their lives everyday while she was sitting in a comfy chair by a warm fire in the second most protected building in England. She also knew that they kept their letters purposefully vague as far as their well being was concerned. Her gut told her that things weren't going so well, despite all of their best efforts.

Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted by a sound coming from downstairs.

_Bang, bang._

It took a moment to process what the noise signified. _Was that the door?_ No sooner had she finished the thought did Mrs. Black began shouting obscenities at the empty hallway. _Definitely the door…_

Her breath caught in her chest. For no reason, her heart began thumping so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Grabbing her wand off of the small tea table next to her chair, she jumped up, the forgotten tome clicking shut and falling to the floor with a heavy _thunk._ She almost tripped on it in her haste to reach the door.

_No one ever knocks. Hell, no one even uses the bloody door. Maybe it's Ron and Harry._ All of these thoughts rushed wildly through her head as she raced down the steps. _Something_ was about to happen. She just _knew_ it.

Finally, she was standing in the dimly lit foyer, the giant, black oak door towering over her petite form. Wand at the ready, she took a deep breath before swinging the heavy door wide open. _Nothing_ could have prepared her for what happened next.

As she opened the door she almost buckled under the dead weight of the unconscious man who collapsed into her arms. She had to put one foot back for support. Once she was sure she had her balance, she rolled one shoulder back and escorted the man's limp body to the floor as gently as she could.

Hermione was straddling him now and she righted her self quickly trying to catch her breath. It wasn't until she put her hand on her forehead that she noticed the blood on her arm. Puzzled, she looked at her arms and then her grey t-shirt and jeans. She was covered in blood. She could feel parts of her shirt sticking damply to her skin.

She quickly moved to the right, placing herself between him and the stairs, and knelt down next to the stranger. He was literally _soaked_ with blood. Slowly the tangy metallic scent of it filled the small foyer. His blond hair was saturated with it and it was smeared with dirt all across his face. She gingerly placed one hand on his chest. His dark shirt was damp and she noticed that there were several gashes running from his collar bone all the way down to his navel. His right shoulder and neck were the worst. Both his shirt and his worn cloak were destroyed, just like his flesh. There were several deep wounds that looked to be caused by a very strong animal and his shoulder appeared to be dislocated.

There was so much blood. She felt the bile rising in the back of her throat. _Honestly, Hermione_, she chided herself. _You'd think after all the battles you've been through, you'd be used to a bit of carnage by now._ Ignoring her angry stomach she moved her hand over his heart and leaned her head in towards his face to see if she could feel his breath on her cheek.

_Nothing._

Her inner Gryffindor became desperate at this. Who he was wasn't important right now. It would _never_ matter if he died right there in the foyer. As far a Hermione was concerned, it could have been Draco Malfoy there next to her; she still would do her best. She would not fail the stranger like she was failing Harry. She just _wouldn't_.

Undaunted, she reached for the wrist lying useless at the man's side. After several moments of pressing her fingers firmly into the space just above the radius, she felt it. It was weak and erratic, but it was there, a pulse. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least she had time to call for help.

It wasn't until she laid his hand softly across his stomach that she noticed it. There on the man's littlest finger was a silver ring. A flicker of recognition flashed through her mind. She retrieved the hand to more closely inspect the ring.

"Merlin." She couldn't think of anything else to say. She stared at the long graceful fingers and back at the ring. On the flat surface of the signet ring was a large Gothic "M" with an enchanted snake slithering about it.

_Malfoy._

_Draco Malfoy._

"Shite."

Fenrir Greyback's rage was barely held in check as he Disapparated from Knockturn Alley. He'd had the whelp right where he'd wanted him until Snape interfered. _At least he's dead_. The thought brought him little comfort. Even after he'd disposed of the turncoat, the brat had still had it in him to cast that curse.

The wolf went to the fist place he thought of where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. The wolf's flight instinct had kicked in as soon as the pain from the deep slashes on his chest registered.

_Crack_

The tiny sliver of moon that had illuminated the forest before was now obscured behind thick clouds; it would be raining soon. After gaining his bearings, the wolf hobbled painfully over to the door. He was still bleeding, but it wasn't that bad anymore. However, he had lost a lot of blood initially, so he didn't want to take any chances.

With a grunt, he knocked the door right off its hinges. Once he was inside, the man took full control and began the only slightly less painful transformation back to his human form.

When it was over, he was kneeling on all fours in the darkness, panting heavily. The pain in his chest had swelled with a vengeance. He was glad no one was here to witness this.

He flopped over onto his back, the wood cool against his flesh. His shirts always got ripped to shreds, but his trousers generally remained in tact. He could feel the material sticking wetly to his thighs, soaked with his own blood.

He reached into one pocket and pulled out his wand. It too was slick making it difficult for him to grip. He needed to get to a bathroom and fix himself up before he lost anymore blood. After casting a quick _lumos_, he quickly located the door at the back of the room. He assumed it would lead to Snape's bedchambers and hopefully a sink. He rolled over and forced himself up to his feet.

Once he made it to the bedchamber, he found and lit the oil lamp on the night table. The bedroom was as sparsely furnished as the sitting room. There wasn't a lavatory, but there was a vanity with a wash basin and a mirror large enough to view his entire torso. It would have to suffice.

He went to the cupboard and got several towels before he sat at the vanity. A whispered _aguamenti_ had the silver basin full of clean water. He silently began cleaning his ruined chest, wincing only occasionally as he further molested the frayed nerve endings. A few minutes later, he was able to better ascertain the damage. There were about a dozen deep gashes that criss-crossed every which way. He had been able to stop the bleeding at least.

_That was some curse,_ he thought grudgingly. Both wolf and man were loathe to even make that small concession. _If I'd been there and not the wolf, it probably would have killed me_. These thoughts did nothing for his already sour mood.

Annoyed beyond words that the whelp had won the first round, he snatched his wand up and began forcefully muttering healing charms under his breath. The wounds were now healed, but he would always bear the scars. Cursed scars would never fade.

He finished cleaning himself and went to Snape's wardrobe. Greyback was a bit bulkier than Snape, but hopefully he'd be able to find at least a shirt.

In the end he settled on a black shirt that was just large enough to cover his broad chest and shoulders. There was also a heavy winter cloak with a hood made of black wool that appeared to be brand new. None of the pants would have fit, so he _scourgified_ his own and sat on the bed debating whether he should take the boots, or go barefoot as usual. He eventually decided to take those too.

_Not like Snape will be needing them._ He almost barked out a laugh. The night, after all, hadn't been a total loss. _Time to go see Voldemort._ He couldn't wait to see what would happen when he told the Dark Lord that his precious Snape was nothing but a traitor.

Greyback blew out the lamp and left the building. Tugging his new cloak tight against the chill, he Apparated to the Avery house where Voldemort sat stewing the dank and musty library.

It would have been safe to say that Crabbe and Goyle were less than thrilled to see Fenrir Greyback return so soon. As he strode purposefully down the claustrophobic hallway, the two Death Eaters shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Greyback repressed the grin that was tugging at one corner of his mouth. _No wonder they're here playing gatekeeper, they're not good for anything else._

"I'm here to see Our Lord." He had stopped little more than a foot away from them. The scent of their fear was intoxicating. He had to resist the urge to torment them with his presence. Right now though, he just wanted to finish this and go home and sleep for two days. He felt his impatience returning.

"_Now." _His voice was as low and menacing growl. .

The one on the right, the same one he'd barked at on his way out, didn't need to be told twice. He slipped silently into the room and returned a moment later. He didn't say anything, but pushed the door wide and flattened himself against the wall, making room for Greyback to pass.

He brushed past them and walked straight over to Voldemort's chair. He had knelt on one knee and kissed his Lord's robes once more before Voldemort said anything.

"Greyback," he hissed. The werewolf ignored the prickling at the back of his neck.

"Tell me, what news do you have for you Lord?" He inhaled deeply, letting his bifurcated tongue flicker out between his thin lips, tasting the air. "I smell his blood. I _taste_ his blood." He stopped talking, but his tongue continued to flicker about, relishing in the savor of the carnage Greyback had brought him.

Fenrir seized the Dark Lord's momentary silence and launched into the tale. He started at the beginning and left nothing out, not even the treachery of Narcissa Malfoy or the betrayal of Severus Snape, or about the curse that had caused the wolf to flee before he could finish the job.

When he finished, he took a deep breath. He had not been nervous during the retelling, but he _was_ anxiously anticipating Voldemort's reaction.

He was not disappointed.

Voldemort jumped up from his seat and began furiously pacing the length of the library, his black robes swirling about in a fashion that ironically reminded him of Snape. With a scream of rage, he grabbed the wingback and threw it against the wall causing several books to tumble to the floor. The window next to the bookshelf shattered from the concussion, letting the frigid air rush into the already chill room. Greyback was now very grateful he'd decided to take the cloak.

The Dark Lord was not prone to physical displays of outrage, which made the eruption that much more entertaining. Fenrir loved watching people come unraveled, even if it were only for a short time. Even better if he was the cause.

He began screaming again, but the werewolf didn't understand any of the snake-like noises coming from Voldemort's red slash of a mouth. He was speaking Parseltongue, and Nagini, who was still curled up on the hearth taking what heat it offered, was responding. She lifted her enormous, square head up and began hissing her reply.

_Now, this I didn't expect,_ he mused to himself. He remained kneeling in the same spot, next to where the chair used to be. He was greatly fascinated by the whole scene, but his face was completely blank. Greyback was now displaying the same amount of emotion as would a man watching paint dry.

Voldemort and Nagini carried on like that for a minute or two. The great constrictor had worked her magic. He was no longer pacing, or shouting for that matter, and his breathing had returned to normal.

"You may go now. I expect an update soon." Voldemort's voice was calm and even. The only evidence of the outburst was the upturned chair and broken window.

Despite the tantrum, Greyback was more than ready to leave. Two meetings with Voldemort in one night, not to mention the debacle in the Alley, had definitely worn him and his nerves out. He was exhausted, body and mind. This time he ignored the idiots playing Death Eaters at the door. He didn't have the energy for games tonight. He just wanted to sleep.

Hermione stared at the blood covered face for several moments, completely dumbfounded. It was definitely Malfoy.

"Shite." She repeated the expletive like it would make the whole scenario more believable. A cold autumn wind swept through the foyer, snapping her out of her reverie. The door was still open.

She dropped Malfoy's hand and stretched across his body to grab her wand from where she'd dropped it. She speedily cast a healing charm to make sure the all of the bleeding had stopped. _Now the tricky part,_ she thought nervously. She'd never used this spell, _thank Merlin_, so she crossed her fingers praying that she'd do it right. He had not been breathing for almost five minutes and Hermione knew that if she didn't do something quickly he _would_ die.

With a swish and a flick, she incanted firmly, "Recreo."

At first, nothing happened and she feared that she was too late. To her immense relief, Draco's back arched off the ground as the spell did its job. He gasped deeply twice and collapsed back onto the floor. His lips, which had begun to turn blue, regained some of their color and his chest began slowly rising and falling. He still wasn't conscious, but he was _alive_.

Hermione exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. _It's better than nothing,_ she thought. He wasn't out of the woods yet, though.

Finally, she got up to close the door. Shivering from the cold air, she stuck her heat out for a quick look around. It was cloudy just then and most of the street lamps were out. In fact, the only light was the dim lamplight emanation from the foyer behind her.

"_Lumos," _she said holding her wand out in front of her like a torch. Then she saw the body at the bottom of the stairs. Her brow furrowed in a very Hermione-like way. _And here I was, complaining about being bored. Heh, be careful what you wish for._

Taking a tentative step out onto the small porch, she raised her wand a bit higher. The soft pool of light now revealed the whole corpse. He was missing his left arm. Hermione blanched. _More carnage._

That didn't matter right now. She had work to do.

She hastily conjured two stretchers and levitated the men onto them. Malfoy was still breathing, thank Merlin. A cursory glance confirmed her suspicions. Severus Snape was dead.

Hermione wasn't really surprised by this. Malfoy was clever, but there was now way he'd successfully hidden from both sides of the war for as long as he had without help. Snape was the obvious candidate. What did surprise her was the sheer brutality of the men's injuries. She couldn't think of a single curse that would do that kind of damage, and that was saying something.

Without further delay, Hermione mobilized the stretchers, moving Snape to the library and Malfoy to the spare bedroom two doors down. Once he was situated on the bed and Hermione assured herself that he was still breathing, she ran down to the kitchen to firecall Professor McGonagall.

Since Dumbledore died and Professor McGonagall became Headmistress, not much about the office had changed. In actuality, the only things that had changed were Dumbledore's portrait had been added to the ranks and the cupboard which was once occupied by the Pensieve was now empty as it was stored safely beneath Harry's bead at Grimmauld Place. She was glad nothing had changed. In some small way it made Hogwarts seem even more steadfast.

When Hermione popped her head into the office, she was not at all surprised to see her old Transfiguration professor sitting at her desk reading. Hogwarts had only been opened for returning seventh year students this term. Even though there were barely one hundred students enrolled, the staff still had its work cut out for them. Since the end of last year, the number of Death Eater attacks had more than doubled. Because of this, most of Hogwarts was being used as a refugee shelter for witches and wizards who had no where else to go. Also, the hospital wing was being used to handle overflow from St. Mungo's after an attack there left hundreds dead and most of the building unusable.

"Professor."

McGonagall looked up from her book, unprepared to see Hermione's head floating in the fireplace. She sat up straighter and removed her reading glasses.

"Miss Granger, is something the matter?"

"Actually, Professor, I've got a bit of an emergency on my hands. I was wondering if you and Professor Lupin could come straight away. Oh, and Madame Pomfrey too, I'll need her help."

"Whatever happened, Miss Granger? Is that blood on your face?" Her voice was tinged with alarm now. Hermione was thinking of the quickest way to describe how the last twenty minutes of her life had transpired. She summed it up in one sentence.

"Severus Snape is dead and Draco Malfoy is dying."

Minerva McGonagall stood up at this. Now her face matched her voice.

"What did you say, Miss Granger?"

Hermione ploughed ahead as if McGonagall had said nothing.

"I'm rather good at healing charms, what with Harry and Ron for best mates, but I've never treated anything this severe before. I'd really rather Madame Pomfrey look at him."

"Miss Granger, what _happened_?"

"I don't know, Professor," she replied simply. "Please, hurry. I've already had to revive him with magic once this evening. Oh, and don't forget Professor Lupin. He should be aware of this development."

Before she could reply, Hermione's head disappeared.

At once, Hermione ran back up to the second floor and all the way down the hall to the lavatory. Madame Pomfrey would be here within the half hour and she wanted to get as much accomplished before then as she could.

With an armful of rags and towels she rushed back to the guestroom where she'd left Malfoy. She deposited the towels at the head of the bed and began gently removing his clothes. He looked even worse with his shirt gone. As well as Hermione could remember, Malfoy had always been lean, but he looked like he hadn't had a decent meal since Christmas. Also, the gaping wounds on his chest were far worse than she'd realized. The shirt and poor lighting downstairs had hidden most of the damage, but now she could see the white bone of his ribs contrasting brightly with his torn flesh.

Leaving only his boxers on, she knelt down next to the bed and conjured a bowl and filled it with warm water. Starting with his legs and working up, she began tenderly washing off the blood. She took her time, carefully avoiding his open wounds. When she'd finished with his left side, and walked around the bed to repeat the process, Hermione noticed a sheet of parchment clutched tightly in his hand. It woo was smeared with blood, which would probably be why she hadn't noticed it earlier.

As gently as she could, Hermione extricated what appeared to be a letter from Malfoy's long fingers. As she opened it and began reading, her eyes grew wide with shock. It was a letter; a letter from Dumbledore no less. The letter was offering him sanctuary. _Well, one mystery solved._ Still, there were a hundred more new questions bouncing about in her head now. She pushed them to the back of her mind, forcing herself to complete the task at hand. _Later, when McGonagall gets here, _she told herself.

Even though she worked tenderly, almost lovingly, there was still a part of her that was screaming in disbelief. After all, this was _Malfoy_. This was the same boy who'd tormented her and her friends relentlessly for six whole years. This was the same boy who caused the death of Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time. But tonight, looking at his ruined body and haggard appearance, she could not call up any of the violent hatred or anger that the mere mention of his name would have just one hour ago. Now the only thing she felt was pity. So, here she was, Hermione Granger, trying her level best to save the life of Draco Malfoy.

_Harry's going to kill me._

There was one thing that put her mind at ease. Neither of his arms bore the Dark Mark.

She had just finished and was cleaning up when she heard three voices coming from downstairs. Hermione put on her best poker face and stepped quietly into the hall. She walked determinedly towards the two professors and the school nurse who were just reaching the top of the stairs. Before any of them could start question her she spoke up.

"Professors, Madame Pomfrey." She nodded to each in greeting. "Mr. Malfoy is in that bedroom there," she gestured behind her. "I've washed him up for you. We'll be in shortly Madame. Professors, I think it would be best if we went up to the study, as Snape is in the library. We should talk before you see him."

Finished, she began ascending the next flight of stairs, leading the way to the study. Professors Lupin and McGonagall had been a bit taken aback by the Gryffindor's forward demeanor, but it was late and their curiosity got the better of them.

The study was small and cozy. There was a large mahogany desk with an equally large leather chair behind it and a small sofa underneath the window that overlooked the backyard. Hermione's old professors seated themselves there while she took the chair for herself, pulling it around and facing them. She caught a bit of her reflection in the window. She looked awful. Her clothes were soaked in Malfoy's blood, as well as he arms and face, and there were dark bags under her eyes.

"Tea?" she asked bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. She conjured a table and service with three cups.

"Yes, thank you," Lupin replied. "You seem to want to get down to business, so why don't you start from the beginning. Minerva said you didn't give much in the way of an explanation."

"I apologize for being a bit…enigmatic, but time was of the essence. It was most important to get Madame Pomfrey here as quickly as possible. I _was_ a bit vague."

Pouring the tea, she continued, "I thought both of you should be here since you're sharing leadership responsibilities. There are some serious decisions to be made, and it's not my place, although I do have my opinions," she said matter-of-factly. "Now, from the beginning…"

It didn't take long to complete the narrative, but by the time Hermione finished both of them were sitting in silence holding cold cups of tea. The looks on their faces told her that they had just as many questions as she did.

Remus furrowed his brow. The expression made him appear much older than he was. "What I don't understand, is how he got _here_. Harry made you the Secret keeper when Albus died. How did he find the house with the Fidelus Charm in tact?"

"Ah, now that is probably the one question I _can_ answer. She stood and retrieved Dumbledore's letter from her back pocket. She passed it to Professor McGonagall, who eyed it curiously.

"Yes, its blood, but it's dry already," Hermione offered reassuringly.

By the time professor McGonagall finished reading the letter, her face wore much the same expression Hermione's had.

"Albus gave him the address?" she asked. Hermione nodded.  
"Apparently he was under the impression that Malfoy would need our help sooner or later. He never failed to see the good in people. I think he was hoping that Malfoy would come around for the good guys in the end." Hermione downed the cold remnants of her tea in one big gulp and set the cup on the table. "Now we come down to it. There are four questions that we should have answered before we go downstairs. One: What should be done with Snape's body? As far as I know he has no relatives, which would leave us with the responsibility. Two: What should we do with Malfoy, _if_ he survives? All options save one would eventually lead to his untimely death and that letter made it pretty clear that it was Dumbledore's wish that the Order help protect him. Questions three and four will depend greatly on your decision to number two. Should you decide to take Malfoy in, someone will have to look after him. I don't think it would be such a good idea to keep him at Hogwarts because there is little privacy, and St. Mungo's is out of the question. So, with your consent, I am volunteering to look after him myself. I don't have much to do here besides research; it would be a welcome distraction. Besides, I know we were never friends, but I think that if he wakes up, he would appreciate a kind face. He will be safe here, most importantly."

Lupin and McGonagall exchanged amazed glances, and Hermione couldn't help the small smile that flittered across her lips. It would seem that the brightest witch her year also turned out to be the most confident and compassionate witch her year as well.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Hermione?" Professor Lupin was genuinely concerned. "What about Harry and Ron?"

"That would bring us to number four. Assuming he's staying, I think it wise if as few people know as possible."

"Surely you do not intend to keep Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley in the dark?" Professor McGonagall interrupted. It was the first thing she'd said since reading Dumbledore's letter.

"Of course not, Professor. But, it would be foolish to tell them before they get back. What we're doing is incredibly important and Harry appreciates that, but you know how impetuous he can be. If Harry, and Ron for that matter, found out that Malfoy was _here_, in _Harry's_ house, they would both be back here straight away to put him out of his misery.

Both professors nodded knowingly. They knew all too well how emotionally driven Harry was, and Ron's temper was legendary.

"I only ask that I be able to sit them down and explain everything properly, face to face."

"Naturally," replied Lupin. "You're probably the only person who could stop the two of them from doing something idiotic anyway."

"Thank you," Hermione said. She really was grateful that they didn't argue with her. "I also think that the less people who know that Malfoy is alive, let alone right here at headquarters, the better. I won't be telling anyone, so I will leave it up to you to choose whom to tell. What about Snape?"

It was Professor McGonagall who had the answer this time. "I will come back in the morning and bring the body back to Hogwarts. He can be buried with the other casualties."

"Speaking of Snape," Professor Lupin added, "just before you called, Minerva, I received an owl from him. It was the strangest thing; very cryptic. He said something about there being a lot more to the story than what we expect and that we shouldn't come to any conclusion until all of the information has come to light. He also mentioned that Draco might be needing our assistance in the near future, but he didn't give any details. Oh, and he sent this too." He began digging in his robes' pockets. He pulled out a small glass phial which was filled with a shimmering silver liquid. "He said this was for Harry."

Hermione recognized it at once. "That's a memory, for the Pensieve. Dumbledore left it to Harry when he died. Did the letter say anything else?"

"Only that there is a box with more of these stashed away in his cabin, and that if he died before he could speak with me that we should go and retrieve them at our earliest convenience."

"If you like, you can leave it here and I can have a look at it in the morning." She stood and stretched her hands up over her head, her back popping loudly. "I suspect Madame Pomfrey is about finished with Malfoy by now and I want to show you Snape's body before you leave."

Madame Pomfrey was just exiting Malfoy's room when they reached the bottom of the flight. "He's alive, thanks to you, Miss Granger. He'll need to be supervised almost constantly for the next seventy-two hours. I'm afraid he'll get an infection, even though I've patched him up as best I could. By, the way, what spell did you use to revive him?"

"_Recreo,"_ Hermione replied. "I came across it last term while I was researching for Harry. And I'll be watching over him. Are there any instructions you have for me?"

"Change his bandages every six hours and make sure he at least drinks water. You should see if Molly Weasley could fix you up some broth, he's so malnourished. Everything you need is in the room and I'll be back as soon as I can to check on him. I've done everything I can for him right now. I must be getting back to the castle. It's late, but I still have rounds to make."

"Of course, of course. Thank you so much for coming Madame Pomfrey. Goodnight." Just like Madame Pomfrey not to ask questions. Hermione was thankful for the nurse's professional attitude.

"Goodnight, Poppy. We will speak tomorrow at breakfast," Professor McGonagall added.

The trio watched the nurse walk down the stairs for a moment before moving towards the library once more. Hermione hesitated at the door with her hand on the knob.

"I should warn you, it's pretty gruesome. If there hadn't been so much adrenaline pumping through my veins at the time, I probably would have lost my supper when I found him." Having issued her warning, she pushed the door open and stepped to the side, allowing them passage.

It was true that there was no love lost between the Slytherin and Gryffindor Heads of House, but Hermione could tell that Professor McGonagall was still a bit shaken. Her skin had taken on a grayish tint and for a second, Hermione thought she might be ill.

"Are you alright, professor?"

"Yes, dear, I'm fine. I've just never seen anything like this before." She turned away, unable to look any longer. "What is it Remus?"

Hermione had not expected this reaction from Professor Lupin. He was usually so calm and collected. He had barely made it three steps into the room when he had frozen in his tracks. She could see the tension spread across his shoulders, taking over his body. His fists were clenched at his sides and his normally soft expression was a rigid mask of anger. His brown eyes were blazing. Truth be told, it made Hermione more than a little nervous. Remus Lupin was such a kind, sweet soul; it was easy to forget that he was a werewolf.

"Greyback." He spat out the name vehemently, like it left a bad taste in his mouth. Hermione was shocked to see pure, unadulterated hatred reflected in his eyes. Remus Lupin was not an emotional man.

"Greyback did this." His arms were shaking in rage. "I can _smell_ him."

"But tonight's not a full moon, not even close." Hermione said. She shook her head not wanting it to be possible, but remembering what happened to Bill Weasley at the same time. "Malfoy too, then?"

His silence was answer enough.

_Well, this puts a whole new twist on things…_

**WARNING**

The following section contains language, violence, spousal abuse, and sexual abuse/rape. If these topics bother you, please don't read this next part. Please, skip to the end where you'll find a synopsis of the section, so you don't miss any information. I don't want to offend anyone, but this part is pretty important to the direction this fic is taking. Thank you, Ruby.

Narcissa Malfoy stood up from where she was kneeling at the fireplace and brushed the soot off of her knees and out of her long, golden blonde hair. She couldn't remember a single time in her life when she'd been more distraught. _I need a drink._

Lucius had been in a right state ever since he returned home less than an hour ago. The dishonor of Greyback replacing him was a bitter pill to swallow indeed. Nothing was as important to Lucius Malfoy as pleasing the Dark Lord. She usually bore the brunt of her husband's malcontent, so when he ranted for several minutes and then retired to his study, the relief she had felt was so intense that she'd had to come to her bedroom and lie down.

She knew she had to warn Snape, and soon. Greyback had a reputation of getting the job done quickly and efficiently. If he had in fact been ordered to kill Draco, then he would begin tonight and not rest until it was done. She had taken a risk, firecalling Severus with Lucius in the house, but it was a risk she'd had to take. Draco was the only good thing she'd ever had in her life and she wasn't about to let anyone, not Lucius, not Voldemort, not Fenrir Greyback, take him away from her.

She stared at the fire, lost in her thoughts, unaware of the fact that Lucius was standing in the doorway behind her. Their bedroom was just a luxurious as the rest of the house, but it similarly held no warmth. There wedding night, the night Draco was conceived, was the only good memory she had in this room. The rest gave her nightmares.

She shook her head to clear away the unspeakable memories that threatened to overwhelm her. Her head was throbbing and the past hour had only made it worse. Finally she hung her head down, her beautiful hair shielding the room from view as she tenderly massaged her temples, hoping to ease the pain. She really did need that drink.

"Narcissa, darling," a cold voice drawled behind her. She jumped noticeably, swearing under her breath even as she did it for her unguarded display of emotion.

_Malfoys don't show emotion, Narcissa. She was crying, cradling her dislocated arm, eyes wide with fear. She had dropped a glass on the floor, breaking it. He'd twisted her arm behind her back so fiercely she had almost blacked out. Until the pop, that was. The pain was excruciating…_

"Lucius," she said, turning around to face him. She hoped desperately that her eyes did not betray the calm façade she now had in place. "Would you like a drink?" Before he could answer, she floated over to the small bar, her midnight blue night robes fluttering around her ankles. She took two glasses from the cabinet and poured a brandy for herself and a double scotch for Lucius. He had yet to move from the doorway or say another word and she was beginning to get uncomfortable.

Putting the Malfoy mask in place she pushed the growing feeling of dread aside and tried to act like she hadn't just been betraying her intimidating husband. She walked across the room to hand him his drink.

"Who were you calling, dear?" She hated it when he used terms of endearment like that. They were usually employed out of spite; a nauseating contradiction to how he actually treated her.

"Bella," she replied immediately. "She's just as upset about this nonsense as you are, dear." She also hated using the same words, they sounded so false on her lips. She extended her hand, offering him his drink. He stared at it, and then back at her. Narcissa's breath caught. She had seen that look in his eye a thousand times, and it never meant good things.

Before she could step back, he smacked her hand away sending the glass flying across the room to shatter against the wall. In an instant, he closed the gap between them. One hand reached behind her head and grabbed a handful of hair at the root and pulled back, _hard_. She dropped her own glass on the carpet. He had effectively immobilized her head with one swift motion, exposing the delicate length of her slender neck, her skin soft and creamy in the firelight.

She tied hard to control her breathing, but her fear was bordering on panic. She knew what was coming. Well, not exactly, but she had a pretty good idea.

"Why do you lie to me, Narcissa? You know what happens when you lie."

The feel of his hot breath on her cheek was sickening. With his free hand, he lazily traced one long, graceful finger down the tender flesh of her neck, over her collar bone and down into her cleavage. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the plush carpet underneath her feet.

"Why would I lie to you, Lucius? Why would I lie about firecalling my sister?" Her voice was strained from the pressure on her larynx. She could hear her heart beating in her ears.

He jerked her head back a bit more and swiped his hot, disgustingly wet tongue up her throat. "Tut, tut, darling. How could you have been calling Bella if I was already talking to her?"

_Shite._

She kept her face as composed as she could, anticipating the blow that was coming, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower. For seventeen years she'd been putting up with his abuse, she would take it again tonight.

She didn't have to wait long. Without warning, he pulled her forward, kneeing her violently in the abdomen, knocking the wind out of her. He legs buckled, but his firm hold on her head prevented her from collapsing.

Using her scalp as leverage, he pulled her body to his until they were flush. He grabbed her hip so tightly she could feel his fingernails digging into her skin through her robes. She winced as he ground his erection sharply into her pelvis. _It's going to be a long night._

"Who were you calling, Narcissa?"

She was unbelievably terrified of Lucius, but she would not allow herself to give in this time. She would die if it meant that Draco could live another day. Narcissa's powdery blue gaze locked with Lucius' steely grey, but she said nothing. He twisted his hand in her hair and this time she did cry out.

This only served to excite Lucius more; lust now mingled with anger in his eyes. The rest of his face was twisted into a hateful sneer.

"Who were you calling," he repeated more forcefully.

Silence.

"Have it your way, _darling_."

He loosed his grip on her hair and she tumbled to her knees for lack of support. Before she could scramble away, Lucius viciously backhanded her and she went flying. She lay face down on the soft carpet a few feet away fighting the darkness that threatened to envelop her. Her vision was fuzzy, but she recognized Lucius' boots in front of her face. He kicked her in the stomach and forced her over onto her back. _Crack. _The sound of her ribs shattering was sick, but the pain was worse.

Before she had caught her breath, he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and threw her up against the wall. It was pointless to fight back; it would only make it worse. She would let him do whatever he wanted to her. He grabbed her wrists with one hand and pinned them against the wall above her head.

"You _will_ tell me what you were up to."

"Why?" she spat, before she could bite her tongue. There was no point in denying it at this point. "You're going to beat me anyways. Telling you won't change that."

"True," he said grinding his pelvis against hers again. "But, if you tell me, maybe I won't torture you when I'm done."

She turned her head away, no longer capable of meeting his gaze. He grabbed her chin with his other hand, forcing her to look at him. Then he crashed his mouth into hers, all teeth and tongue. She tried to squirm away, but he moved one leg between hers pinning her lower body to the wall as well. He bit her lower lip as he pulled away and she tasted the coppery tang of blood in her mouth.

Silence.

Without skipping a beat, Lucius indecorously threw his wife onto the bed. The impact sent a jolt of pain tearing through her delicate frame. Lucius followed, climbing atop her. He was straddling her now; the added weight to her abdomen making the pain almost unbearable.

Ignoring the ties, he brutishly ripped her robes leaving her with only her lacy undergarments. Once again, she found her arms pinned up above her head, useless. Narcissa noticed his free hand stray towards his trousers where he began expertly unbuckling his belt and undoing the button that closed his pants. Lucius swiped his tongue lasciviously from her navel all the way up her flat stomach, stopping at the shallow dip of her collar bone.

"You know you're just making this harder for yourself," he whispered in her ear. "If you would just behave yourself, _whore_," he ground his cock into her hip for emphasis, "then I wouldn't have to do this to you." He bit the soft curve of her neck hard enough to draw blood. When she whimpered in pain he grabbed her chin again, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Never," she said vehemently and spat in his face.

"Bitch!" he bellowed and struck her hard, shattering he cheekbone.

She heard her jaw pop as well and felt the hot sticky flow of blood gushing from her nose. Instantaneously, the oppressive weight on her body vanished, but she was no where near to seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Before she could react to Lucius' absence, he was back, this time between her legs with his pants bunched around his knees.

She couldn't watch; she knew what happened next. Narcissa had lost count of how many times Lucius had defiled her body. She didn't want to know how many times the man she used to love had dug her heart and soul out with a spoon, leaving her a hollowed and bloody shell. Tonight would be no different.

Her ankles were now thrown over his shoulders, legs spread wide.

"If you tell me what I want to know, I promise I'll do this as quickly as possible."

Silence.

She kept her eyes screwed shut, not wanting to watch her husband rape her.

He tore her panties away as if they were made of paper and plunged inside of her. Narcissa bit into her shoulder to stifle the scream that wanted to rip free. Her resolve was wavering, but she would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her anguish vocalized.

Lucius began pumping furiously, and silent tears ran down her hot cheeks.

"Tell me, you fucking slut. Tell me what you're hiding." His voice was completely emotionless. He might as well have been talking about the weather.

Silence.

His strong hands gripped her hips even tighter, manicured fingernails digging in, leaving bloody half moons on Narcissa's creamy white flesh.

"Tell me!" he shouted it this time, finally displaying his impatience. Her silence was making him more and more angry. Harder, faster, but Lucius hardly broke a sweat. He could go on like this _forever_.

Then he did something he'd never done before, not once. He leaned forward propping himself up with one hand while the other caressed the curve of her jaw. She shuddered at the intimate touch as he continued driving into her over and over again.

"Tell me," he whispered again.

Silence.

Narcissa's eyes popped open in terror as Lucius wrapped his long fingers around her throat and squeezed. _Oh Merlin, he's going to kill me_, she thought frantically. Panic bubbled up in her chest again, but Lucius' death grip prevented her from screaming its release. Her lungs were on fire, the lack of oxygen burning them up in her chest. Already the corners of her vision were darkening.

"Tell me."

"Snape," she croaked, ashamed of her weak constitution.

_I'm sorry, Draco._

"What about?" he pressed.

When she hesitated he tightened his grip.

"Greyback, she managed, the tears flowing freely now.

_So, so sorry._

She was seeing spots now and her arms and legs were going numb.

"Why?"

"Draco."

_Draco…_

All she could hear now was the blood rushing through her ears. Narcissa didn't fight the darkness this time.

When Narcissa came to, she knew instinctively that she was alone. She was still lying on the bed, naked except for her bra, and in so much pain she wasn't sure if she could move. Groaning, she gingerly fingered her side, testing her broken ribs. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but her lovely face was still smeared with it. It wasn't completely dry yet, which told her that Lucius hadn't been gone long.

She cried out in pain as she sat up on the bed. Unwelcome, the events of the evening replayed in her mind. _Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry,_ she said to herself, fighting back the tears. If she started crying now, she wouldn't stop.

"I have to get out of here," she said aloud. Her voice was smooth and deep, belying her porcelain features. Bracing herself, she got up and hobbled over to the lavatory. She wasn't sure how much time she had and she planned on being very, _very_ far away when her atrocity of a husband returned.

She didn't have any potions for mending broken bones, but she did have some for the pain. She could have somebody look at it later, when she was settled. Taking a healthy swig, she climbed into the shower and turned on the hot water. She wanted to scrub her skin raw, removing all traces of the blood and the sex, but she settled for a gentle wash. Her body couldn't take any more abuse tonight.

Five minutes later, Narcissa stood fully dressed in front of her closet and began throwing only her most practical clothes into the medium sized trunk behind her. She also packed her toiletries, every potion she found in the bathroom and two bottles of brandy from the bar. Having everything she wanted from the bedroom she Apparated up into Lucius' study. There was a safe behind the portrait of his great-grandfather and she knew that he kept at least a couple thousand galleons in it. She took it all, not feeling the least bit guilty and Disapparated back to her bedchamber. She threw the money in on top of everything else and locked the trunk.

Taking one last look around a room that she had no affection for, she placed her wedding band on Lucius' nightstand and left Malfoy Manor forever.

**SYNOPSIS**

Lucius catches Narcissa returning from her firecall to Snape. After a brutal interrogation, she relents and tells him that she had been calling Snape to warn him about Fenrir Greyback hunting Draco. She loses consciousness and wakes up to an empty house. Without any hesitation, she packs her bags, leaves her wedding ring and walks out of Malfoy Manor, never to return.


	3. Disorientation

Chapter 3

"Stupefy!"

_Hermione heard Harry's deep voice clearly cast the stunning spell over the din of battle. He was somewhere behind her fighting valiantly in the deepening night. She didn't have a clue where Ron was. _

"Incendio!" _she yelled. The wall of fire that appeared pushed outwards, momentarily shielding her. The fire didn't actually hurt the Vampires, but it at least gave her a moment to breathe. _

_Then she felt it. The early spring night had been crisp and chill, but now it was heavy and oppressive. The magic crackled on the air like electricity. Every fiber of her being was tingling, humming in tune with the raw energy that now filled the graveyard. _

"Ron!!" _Harry screamed long and hard behind her._

_A blinding flash of white…_

Hermione snapped her eyes open. The bright white light of her mind's eye switching abruptly to the almost complete darkness of the room left her feeling a little disoriented.

Disorientation. She was growing accustomed to the feeling. There were so many thoughts and emotions swirling about in her head, it was hard not be overwhelmed. Especially considering most of them either annoyed her or just simply didn't make sense.

She sighed resignedly when she heard the grandfather clock down the hall in the library chime the hour.

_Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong._

She had been awake when the clock had struck four. _Not even an hour…_ Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd slept for more than two or three hours. For some reason, her brain didn't want her to forget what happened that night in the cemetery.

She was awake now, there was nothing for it. Her eyes drifted down to the untended text in her lap. She considered continuing, but almost immediately discarded the idea. She was too distracted. Anything she read now would have to be re-read later anyways.

_What's the point _she thought dejectedly. Carefully, she closed the book and added it to the mountain she had accumulated in the past two days. Actually, since Malfoy had shown up three nights ago, she had hardly left the room at all. That very night she'd moved her favorite chair in from the library, along with all of her books, and had even added an extra twin (even though she had yet to sleep in it). It just seemed so cold-hearted to leave him there by himself when it was just as easy to research next to his fire as it was next to the fire in the library.

Hermione changed position, curling both of her legs underneath herself and angling her body towards the room. She couldn't see much. The curtains were closed, blocking out any light the young moon might have provided. Embers were all that remained in the stone hearth and they gave the small room a dim, rosy glow.

Hermione found her gaze on Malfoy. Most of his torso was still bandaged making it nearly indistinguishable from his porcelain skin. He had always been handsome, and the rose-hued light only enhanced his graceful features.

_This is why you don't look at him,_ /i she silently berated herself. _What would Ron and Harry say if the came in this instant?_

_Harry…Ron…_

What would they say? She stood up and walked over to the window on the far side of her bed. Her cozy grey sweatpants were too long and the bottoms made a swishing noise as the dragged across the floor with every step. The worn wood was freezing underneath her bare feet.

She didn't like where this mental conversation was heading and wanted desperately to change the subject. She didn't want to think about what her two best friends would ask, because for once in her life, Hermione Granger did not have the answer. The notion left her disoriented.

Disorientation. What else should she call it? Confusion? Bewilderment? Mental chaos? _All of them fit, really._

When she reached the window, she threw open the curtains. A blast of cold air crashed into the exposed skin of her arms and face, causing goosebumps to pop up all over her body. _I forgot how drafty this old house is._ A shiver ran up her spine and over her scarred flesh, but she welcomed the cold. Hopefully it would help clear her head.

The night was brilliantly clear. Hermione could just see the tip of the moon as it sunk into the western horizon. There wasn't much left, but its light was so dazzling that it illuminated the entire room.

She caught sight of her reflection in the window. _Merlin, I look terrible,_ she thought, distracted, if only for a moment. Her thick, curly hair had been swept up into a pony, revealing her neck and shoulders. Her skin was a pretty, naturally tan color, but her burgundy tank top and the pale moonlight made her look as pale as Malfoy. _The dark circles don't help, either,_ she thought smugly.

_Malfoy_. She could see his reflection in the glass as well. He looked so…broken. He looked like a man who had been beaten down one too many times. He looked abandoned.

_Abandoned._

_Just like me._

Pressing her face up against the frigid pane, she could hear the wind howling outside. She watched her breath condense on the glass as she continued to take deep breaths. The glass was so cold that it burned her cheek. It didn't bother her; the pain only helped clear her mind that much more.

_Malfoy_. The root of so much conflict.

_Honestly, Hermione, you don't need to be so dramatic about it_. She half-shook, half-smushed her face against the window, the bottom of her pony tickling across her shoulder.

Part of Hermione wished that Malfoy would wake up, this instant, so he could start acting like the git she knew he was and she could go back to hating him. That way, all of this mental torment she was putting herself through would have been pointless. But she couldn't deny her nature; she had to analyze it.

Originally, she had volunteered for the job for one simple reason: it was the right thing to do. She also stood by the argument she had presented to Professors McGonagall and Lupin; it was sound. Dumbledore had obviously wanted them to help Malfoy and there really wasn't anywhere that was safe except right where he was. But, it was more than that, and she knew it.

Pity had also played its role in her decision. How could one i not /i feel compassion for a man who showed up at your door in the condition Malfoy had? And he'd looked so…alone.

_Scratch that. Malfoy_ was _alone._ Disowned by his family, hunted by friends with his only companion lying murdered just a few feet away definitely constituted as alone. At least it did in Hermione's book.

Hermione knew how it felt, being alone. She knew how it felt to wake up, scared, in pain, disoriented (there's that word again), and not have anyone there to hold your hand and tell you that everything was going to be alright. It was a dreadful feeling.

At least she was being realistic about the situation. Malfoy was a bastard, the very definition of pureblood prejudice, and she would have been a fool to assume that a year's time and a little kindness would have changed him that profoundly. She didn't expect anything in return for her efforts.

Hermione also knew that his presence here could end up being very beneficial. He didn't have the Dark Mark, but he probably knew who just about every Death Eater in England was. If he wanted to help, he would have a lot to offer.

There was, however, the whole werewolf issue. Only one other person in recorded history had ever been bitten in the same manner as Malfoy and that was Bill Weasley. True, he didn't become a full-fledged werewolf, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen to Malfoy. They were in uncharted territory.

Then, on top of everything else, were Harry and Ron. She felt awful for keeping this from them. Sure, they never told her anything unless it was a clue or a lead, but she had been determined to remain forthright with them. Everyone deserved that. It was just becoming harder and harder everyday not to feel used. She knew this Horcrux was proving infinitely more elusive than the cup, but that didn't excuse the way they were treating her. It was as if they were attempting to cut her out of their lives. Even the owls were coming less frequently now.

And Hermione was definitely not looking forward to the Why-is-Malfoy-here-and-why-are-you-helping-him conversation. They would never understand this. She had always been right there next to them, waiting for them to come back to her. She, however, had woken up in an empty Hospital wing in the middle of the night and had been outright deserted less than two months later. Besides, even if they could understand, it wouldn't change their reaction to Malfoy being here at all, let alone her showing him kindness. Frankly, the whole situation made her quite anxious.

Hermione was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear Malfoy when he woke up behind her.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Hermione whipped around, her musings forgotten. For all of the thinking she'd done over the past couple of days, she hadn't thought about what she would say or do once he actually woke up. So, she just stared at him blankly, at a complete loss for words.

It was that short time of morning after the moon had set but before the sun rose. Everything in the room now had a bluish tint making Malfoy's skin appear even paler. He looked ill. He was sitting up with his legs swung over the side facing Hermione. Even in the dim room, she could see the enchanted golden Snitches whizzing about on Harry's navy blue pajama bottoms. His left arm was supporting his weight; he was obviously favoring his right side. Hermione's brow furrowed with concern when she saw the blood-red stain that was spreading across his chest.

"You shouldn't be moving about," she admonished. She walked over to the dresser and collected her wand and fresh bandages before continuing. "You're bleeding. I need to change your bandages." Placing the dressings on the bed, she crouched in front of him.

"Sit up straight and try not to move," she commanded gently as she began expertly unwinding the gauze. Hermione was pointedly avoiding looking at Malfoy's face. She had been taken off guard by his sudden return to the land of the living, and she was even less prepared to deal with _his_ reaction to _her_. _What would the Slytherin Prince say when he found out that a filthy little Mudblood Gryffindor had saved his life?_ She didn't want to think about it.

She finished in silence, not sure what to say. Malfoy simply did as he was told, but it was obvious that maintaining the position was rather painful. Taking notice, Hermione used her wand to stop the bleeding. Then she began nimbly placing the clean bandages over the still deep gashes on his toned chest.

"How do your shoulder and neck feel?" she inquired professionally. "Do you need a pain potion?"

"I need for you to tell me what the bloody hell is going on," he countered, irritated. Hermione was shocked to hear that his voice was uncharacteristically devoid of its usual nastiness. He just sounded tired and confused.

She didn't answer straight away. Instead she cleaned up, throwing the used dressings onto the embers where they smoldered before bursting into flame. A soft sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. She was beyond exhausted.

"You are at 12 Grimmauld Place," she began, "headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

Malfoy said nothing, but she could feel his eyes on her back. She was grateful that it was still shadowy; maybe he wouldn't notice the sliver-white scars all over her back.

Facing him she asked, "How much do you remember?" She was praying that he at least remembered that Snape was dead. It would be awful to have to tell him em that /em . She walked back between the beds and sat on the edge of her own. The room was so crowded that their knees almost touched. At her back the small window showed an ever lightening sky; the sun was rising.

For the first time, Hermione's honey hued eyes sought out Malfoy's silver-grays. Her breath caught in her chest and she was thankful that the moonlight was at her back, leaving her face in shadow. His eyes were far more beautiful than she recalled. _Maybe that's because he's never looked at you with out sneering or insulting you before. _

"Granger?" Hermione's presence seemed to perplex him.

"Yes, Malfoy, it's me."

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here. Do you remember why you're here?" Hermione knew at least part of the answer, but she was hoping for the full story. Her eyes never left his face as he searched for the answer.

"Sort of." An honest response.

"What happened to you?" she asked hopefully. The curiosity was maddening. She hated not being able to find out the answer to a question.

"Only if you tell me what happened to you back." Ever so slowly, the trademark smirk crept into place. It annoyed Hermione, but it still wasn't having quite the same effect it would have a week ago. It's amazing how quickly things change.

"Absolutely not," she huffed as she stood up. "You may not want to tell me, but I do have to tell Lupin that you're awake, and you em will /em have to tell him. You should lie back down," she continued without skipping a beat. "I'll be back in a bit with breakfast." She made a bee-line for the door, wanting to get out of the small room before she made an even bigger arse of herself.

"Granger?"

She was only half way to the door.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"Why Lupin?"

"Because you were bitten by a werewolf, and he em is /em one." Hermione was using her best talking-to-a-five-year-old voice. She knew it bugged Malfoy just as much as his smirk bugged her. She turned and continued towards the door.

"Granger?"

"What is it, Malfoy? I'm hungry."

"Why are you doing this?"

_Well that's the sixty-four thousand Galleon question, wasn't it?_

"Hell if I know."

She turned the cold doorknob and exited the bedroom, leaving Malfoy to puzzle that one out on his own.

* * *

After taking a super quick, freezing cold shower, Hermione went to her room to dress. The shower had woken her up, but not cleared her head. It was still stuffed full of Harry, Ron, and of course, Draco Malfoy. She hadn't a clue what to wear, so she asked her reflection in the enchanted mirror on her wardrobe. _When all else fails, use the enchanted mirror_. Ginny had told her that once, years ago. She had seen her fiery friend just a couple of weeks ago, right before she started her seventh year at Hogwarts, but she still missed her company. It would probably be until Christmas that she got to see her again. Barring any catastrophes, of course. 

Taking the mirror's advice, she put on her favorite pair of jeans. They were dark, dark blue and low slung, but most importantly, they were snug in all of the right places. She paired it with a black oxford that was also form fitting and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. She left the top couple of buttons undone and added an onyx pendant on a silver chain that sat in the shallow dip of her collarbone. The outfit was completed with her heavy black traveling boots and a black leather belt.

Thanks to her friend in the mirror, this only took about ten minutes. Hermione's stomach rumbled loudly as she hurried downstairs to the kitchen, her heavy boots clunking in the early morning hours. Thankfully Mrs. Black wasn't disturbed; no one needed to hear anything like her ranting that early in the morning. It was after six now, she had heard the clock while she was showering. Whether Malfoy had woken up or not, she really did have a lot of things to do today and she wanted to get started.

The kitchen was dark and the fire had gone cold since dinner the night before, but Hermione remedied both situations with a flick of her wand. She turned on the stove top to cook the eggs and bacon she was planning on making them. She also set a kettle to boil over the fire. All her summers and other holidays spent at the Burrow with Mrs. Weasley had paid off. Hermione was quite skilled in the kitchen, with and without magic. She was just adding the eggs and bacon to the hot pans when she heard the sound of someone hitting the floor, hard. The kettle went flying as well, banging against the wall on the far side of the room. Luckily whoever it was had avoided the scalding water.

"Good morning, Tonks," Hermione said without turning from the stove. Only Nymphadora Tonks could make an entrance like that. She heard her Auror friend brushing the dirt and soot off of her clothing.

"Hallo, Hermione." Tonks walked over to pick up the kettle and clean up the water. She was clumsy as all get out, but she was almost as good with cleaning and repairing charms as Mrs. Weasley was. "I've been trying to get in for almost half an hour."  
"Sorry, the fire died last night. Have you eaten? It's not too late to add some more if you haven't." Tonks could put away almost as much food as Ron. It was truly amazing.

"No, thank you. I'm just turning in actually, but I wanted to check in with you first." Tonks watched as Hermione opened the cupboard and took out two trays as well as two place settings and two teacups. "'E's up then? When did that happen?"

"About an hour ago, I guess."  
"How is he?"

"He's…Malfoy, for lack of a better description. It would have been silly to have expected anything more or less. Don't tell Lupin, yet. He's coming over for tea this afternoon and I'll tell him then. I think Malfoy should get some more rest before he has to start answering a bunch of questions that he wishes no one would ever ask him."

"What's this? Is Hermione expressing something other than contempt for Draco Malfoy. I know he's my cousin, but you don't have to pretend in front of me," Tonks teased.

Hermione gave a half smile. "It's not that, Tonks. It's just, I know how he feels. It's such a terrible feeling. Besides, for the next couple of weeks, it's basically going to be the two of us cooped up together in the creepy old house, so we might as well attempt to be civil."

Breakfast was done cooking and the kettle had boiled again, so Hermione used her wand to remove the food from the pans onto the plates and pour the tea. The skillets were banished to the sink where they settled in with a sharp clinking of metal against metal. br

"What was it you needed to talk to me about, Tonks?"

"Right, right. I almost forgot. I wanted to make sure we were still on for tomorrow."

"Absolutely. You know I set aside my entire Thursdays just for you," she added with a smile and a wink.

"Excellent. I spoke with Moody and he wants to start earlier than usual tomorrow, say 9 o'clock?"

"That's fine. Did he mention what we'd be working on?"

"He said we're going to start by finishing up hand to hand combat, but finish with some basic wandless magic. I, personally, am pants at it, but he seems to think that you'll be a natural."

"We'll see," the younger witch replied doubtfully. "See you tomorrow, Tonks."

"Bright and early."

Tonks used the Floo to go straight to Hogwarts where she was living with Lupin. The thought always made Hermione smile. If there was anyone in the world who deserved that little bit of happiness, it was definitely Remus Lupin. He was such a melancholy man, but not even war could dampen Tonks' spirit. She was the Order's (and Lupin's) personal ray of sunshine. Hermione loved that about her.

Her stomach gave another angry grumble, reminding her that her breakfast was getting cold. Levitating both trays she left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to the second floor. She stopped outside of the bedroom door, not sure how she should be feeling or acting right now. She was ashamed at how easily he'd been able to upset her, even if that hadn't been his goal. i You're a big girl, Hermione. You can roll with the punches, suck it up. /i So that's what she did. Taking a deep breath she entered the room, sending the trays in ahead of her.

Malfoy was in bed, but he was sitting propped up on pillows looking very uncomfortable. "I think I'll take you up on that pain potion now, Granger," he said through clenched teeth.

* * *

The silence in which Hermione and Malfoy ate breakfast was so tense it was almost painful. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so uncomfortable. She had about a hundred questions that she wanted to ask, and she was positive she'd caught Malfoy staring at her at least three times. Needless to say, Hermione was grateful to make her escape. She couldn't remember what had possessed her to eat with him anyway. 

Even though it was only the middle of September, summer was definitely over. The air was brisk and clean, but the wind had a bite to it that whispered of a rough winter ahead. Hermione liked the cloaks that witches and wizards wore in cold weather, but on a windy day like this, nothing beat a full length, woolen pea coat. She had wrapped her blue plaid scarf around her head to keep her hair in place and added black sunglasses before setting off to Muggle London to run some errands.

Hermione almost never went to Diagon Alley, or any other wizarding community for that matter. Not only was she almost always recognized as Harry Potter's "sidekick," but most of the money she had access to was Muggle, sent to her by her parents. They understood that she couldn't work and were more than willing to help out their only daughter.

It was still early; hardly eight o'clock. She really only had a couple of things to do in town, but it had been a couple of weeks since she'd left the dark rooms of Grimmauld Place and she was going to make the most of it. She was looking forward to thinking about something besides Draco Malfoy for a change. _We'll see how that works out, _she thought sarcastically.

Thirty minutes later Hermione found herself walking into her favorite Muggle bookstore, em The Dusty Shelf /em . It always reminded her of the library at Hogwarts. All of the books were used and most of them were quite old, but that was how Hermione liked them.

The store was bigger than it looked from the outside, but still had a cozy feel to it. The walls were painted the color of deep ocean water, and there were overstuffed burgundy-hued armchairs that reminded Hermione of the chairs in the Gryffindor common room scattered all over the store. She breathed deep the scent of musty books and cinnamon incense, and immediately felt far more relaxed than she had in weeks.

"Be right out!" a faint voice called from the back of the store.

Hermione stood on her tip toes trying to locate the owner of the voice, and the shop. Then she saw a stack of books moving ever so slowly towards the counter, teetering precariously. Hermione rushed forward to help the proprietress, Sinead Fitzsimmons. The young woman's appearance never ceased to amaze Hermione. With her shock of vibrant red hair, brown eyes and a plethora of freckles, Hermione was always had the feeling that she was looking at a long-lost Weasley.

"Hermione!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "It's been too long. How have you been?" Her voice was sweet and her thick Irish accent lent a musical quality to her words.

Hermione smiled broadly. "I know, I know, I'm the worse customer ever," she replied remorsefully. "I've been alright, how about yourself?"

"Keeping busy. Dad left more junk in the basement than anyone realized." Sinead's father had died a few months ago and had left her the store. In fact, she was only a couple of years older than Hermione. "What have you been doing that was so important that you couldn't even stop in for a spot of tea?" she inquired teasingly.

"Saving the world."

Her laugh reminded Hermione of wind chimes.

"Well, can you take a break for an old friend and a pot of tea?"

"I think I can," Hermione replied, checking a watch she wasn't wearing._ If she only knew._

A few minutes later Hermione and Sinead were sitting in two armchairs near the display window sipping tea and watching passers-by on their way to work. Hermione often forgot how normal it was to be a Muggle.

"So," her friend said conversationally, "did you just come to visit, or is there something I can help you find?" She knew her too well.

"Actually," Hermione began, setting her cup and saucer on the table, "I was wondering if you had anything about the old castles in Ireland, particularly if there are any local myths about the location. You know, haunted mansions, mysterious murders or disappearances and the like." She was hoping to get lucky…again. After six months of searching for any clue as to where the cup belonging to Helga Hufflepuff might be, Hermione had finally located it in a Muggle newspaper dated about three years before Voldemort had died. Maybe the fates would be kind to her again today.

"I swear, you are interested in the strangest things." Sinead shook her fiery mop in wonderment. "First its abandoned cemeteries then haunted castles. What's next, sunken ships? Unicorns and werewolves?

_If she only knew._

"I'm taking a Folklore and Mythology class this term," she lied. "You know me, always one step ahead of the game." She offered a small smile, hoping her friend wouldn't see through her. Hermione was a terrible liar.

"Where do you go to university again?"

"King's, in Strand." Another lie.

"Right. I don't think that I have anything in stock, but I can make a few phone calls, see what I can find."

"That would be fantastic." Hermione couldn't help but sigh with relief. "So, are you still seeing that bloke? What's his name, Alan?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Alden, and absolutely not! And he stole my bicycle! I have to walk to work now…"

The two young women chatted like that for another half hour before Hermione bid her farewell, "I'll be back next week, that's a promise." . br

Hermione's next stop was a men's clothing store. Malfoy really only had the clothes on his back, and she'd be buggered if she were going to wash them all the time. Besides, she imagined that he didn't really fancy wearing Harry's pajama bottoms all the time either. After about an hour, she'd left with three pairs of jeans, three t-shirts, three long-sleeved shirts, socks, boxers and two pajama bottoms of his own. All of the clothing had been on clearance and Hermione was supremely pleased with herself. It would be her little joke, _Malfoy wearing clearance Muggle clothes_. She couldn't help but laugh.

The last stop was the market. Hermione, on her own, didn't eat much, but she knew Malfoy would need to get his strength back. I looked like he hadn't eaten in ages. With enough food for the next week or so, Hermione snuck behind the building and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

As soon as Hermione walked in the front door, she heard a crash from upstairs, followed by a string of cursing. Then Mrs. Black started screaming. She was by far the worst part about living at Grimmauld Place. 

Leaving the groceries at the bottom of the stairs, but bringing Malfoy's new clothes, Hermione trudged upstairs. She could hear thumping coming from their bedroom. The first thing she noticed was the puddle of various potions speckled with shattered glass that was soaking into the old wood floors. That was before a fluffy brown bullet nearly took her head off.

It was Pig. Ron's tiny little owl was zooming psychotically about the cramped bedroom, seemingly unable to slow down. Malfoy was still swearing as he dodged the bird; Hermione couldn't help but giggle. The sight of Draco Malfoy cowering from an owl the size of a grapefruit was comical.

"Bloody hell, Granger! Don't just stand there, do something!" Malfoy shouted irately.

Obligingly, Hermione pulled out her wand and froze the bird in mid-air. She walked up and gently snatched him out of the air and undid the ties that held the letter to his leg.

"Honestly, Malfoy, it's just an owl."

"He wasn't trying to assault you," he said, still irritated. Apparently, he also noticed how silly he looked hiding from an owl. .

"He wasn't trying to assault you either. He's just not very bright, that's all." The spell was wearing off and the tiny owl was beginning to spasm in his eagerness to be flying again. As she tossed him out the window Malfoy had left open she called, "Come back to the library when you're done." She closed the window keeping the cold wind out.

Hermione folded up the letter from Harry and Ron and placed it in her back pocket. She would read it after lunch.

"I got you some clothes, so you don't have to wear Harry's," she commented as she retrieved the bag from the floor in front of the dresser. "If they don't fit, I can alter them." She set the bag at the foot of his bed.

"I'm about to make lunch. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

He glared at her incredulously, not sure if he believed what was happening.

"Why-," he began but Hermione cut him off.

"Look, Malfoy," she said with irritation, "for the most part, it's going to be just the two of us here. I'm not asking for us to be friends; you don't even have to like me, but this would all be a lot easier if we could be civil to each other. I'm making lunch. What would you like?"

Malfoy furrowed his brow and he continued to stare at Hermione. His eyes were intense and they were making her uncomfortable. "Who is the letter from?" he asked, completely ignoring her question.

"Harry and Ron," she sighed. She really didn't feel like twenty questions right now.

"Why did they send you a letter?"

"How else are we supposed to communicate?

Malfoy gracefully arched an eyebrow. "So, Potter and Weasley aren't here?"

"Obviously."

"Where are they?"

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," Hermione replied, completely dead-pan.

"Anything warm."

"What?"

"For lunch, Granger. Anything warm will do; it's freezing."

"Oh."

"Oh," Malfoy repeated. "Well, go on. You're not the only one who's hungry," he said shooing her away.

Hermione rolled her eyes and left to go make lunch.

_Merlin, he's annoying._

* * *

A/N: Sorry this one wasn't action packed like the last two. I promise we'll get to that in the next chapter. And a million thanks to everyone who reviewed! It's been like Christmas in July.

* * *


	4. Letterbox

**Letterbox**

Narcissa Malfoy inhaled deeply the soft aroma of the hot cup of chamomile tea she was holding, letting it soothe her tired body. These past three days had been taxing both physically and emotionally. She was, however, quite pleased with all she'd accomplished. Her newly purchased flat was small and empty, but it was _hers_. In fact, at the moment there was nothing in the flat except her trunk, a blanket, a fireplace with a cheery fire crackling within, and the cup of tea she had conjured for herself just moments earlier.

It was a far cry from the splendor of Malfoy Manor, but she hadn't been this happy in a long time. She was free. After nineteen years, Lucius no longer held sway over her life.

She smiled softly at the warm fire, finally not afraid to remember her past. She had been happy once, when she was young. Before Lord Voldemort claimed her husband.

Narcissa still remembered her first day of school like it was yesterday. She remembered the nervous excitement when she first stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, the fear that both gripped and intrigued her as she sat silently in the wooden boat as it carried her across the Black Lake, and the overwhelming pride she'd felt at being sorted into Slytherin. It was a Black tradition. Her cousin, Sirius, was the first to break it. He always was a bit strange.

Her seven years at Hogwarts had been a whirlwind, just like her relationship with Lucius. They had been so in love then. It still amazed her that they had waited almost five whole years to get married after leaving school. Now, looking back, Narcissa realized that Lucius had spent that time trying to learn how to juggle a lifetime commitment to two people: the Dark Lord, and herself. _He never figured it out…_

She had conceived Draco that night; their wedding night. It wasn't until after he was born that something in Lucius snapped. Narcissa skipped over those memories. She was more than ready to end that chapter of her life.

Instead, she turned her thoughts toward Draco. He had always been her candle in the night, her light at the end of the tunnel. He was the reason she was still here, fighting for their lives. He deserved better than she'd given him.

Draco, who looked so like hi father. Except for his lips. They were hers, full and soft, not thin and hard. He wanted so badly to make Lucius proud. Even as a small child he tried, but it was never enough. At least she had enough love and affection towards Draco to compensate for Lucius cold demeanor.

The night Lucius was arrested in the Department of Mysteries, Narcissa had been elated. He was finally gone, even if it were only temporary. Then she realized what was in Draco's head, the vengeance in his eyes, the tense way he paced about like a caged animal. She knew he would agree to do anything to redeem his beloved father.

That was why, in desperation, she had gone to Severus. She had never expected him to agree to take the Unbreakable Vow, but he had. She was so relieved that she had cried until one of the house elves had asked if she needed him to call a Healer.

She also remembered very clearly the night that Lucius had escaped from Azkaban. Snape had been there, along with Bella. Snape had warned her; Bella had gleefully informed. _Mad as a hatter, and definitely not the quickest of cats_, she thought. Narcissa loved her sister, but had to admit that she was definitely lacking the mental faculties to realize that Lucius was an abusive, manipulative bastard.

Knowing ahead of time that he would be returning, didn't make it any easier to deal with. It still remained one of the worst nights of her life. She had had her freedom. And then she saw it stripped away, right out of her hands.

Until three nights ago, that was. And Narcissa was determined not to let anyone take it from her again. There was only one way to ensure that.

Narcissa banished the rest of her tea to the sink in the obscenely small kitchenette. She glamoured her hair a rich chestnut brown, wrapped her cloak about her shoulders and Apparated to the Post Office in Hogsmeade Village.

_For Draco._

After another conversationless meal (left over chicken noodle soup), Hermione sat in her customary chair by the fire while Malfoy lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. The brooding scowl on Malfoy's face and the oppressive silence were beginning to grate on Hermione's nerves. She would have preferred them screaming at each other to this. She's had enough of that in the past months to last her a lifetime.

"Warm enough?" she inquired without looking up from the book that she wasn't reading. She figured small talk was the best way to go considering how her attempt to get him to talk earlier that morning had worked out.

It took a couple of minutes for the question to register.

"What?"

Hermione looked up to find Malfoy watching her curiously. A lock of platinum blonde hair was splayed across his forehead. She had the most unnatural urge to reach out and brush it away.

"Are you warm enough, or should I fetch you another blanket?" The lump in her throat was making it difficult for her to sound casual.

If he noticed, he didn't let on. "I'm fine, Granger." His voice was empty, totally void of emotion. He turned back to the ceiling.

Hermione's brow furrowed worriedly. The lack of snide comments was alarming. She'd have to go out on a limb if she was to get any genuine response. She swallowed. The lump was gone; it was much easier to talk to him when he wasn't looking at her. For some reason, her body was behaving most inappropriately whenever they made eye contact.

_You're going mental._

_Am not._

_Don't lie to yourself._

_Shove off_.

"Look, I know I said this earlier, but I meant it," she began nervously, ignoring the argument in her head. "I don't expect us to become friends. I don't even expect us to get along, really, but you _can_ trust me."

Hermione took a deep breath. Her eyes had never left Malfoy's face. She meant what she said. He took so long responding that Hermione was beginning to wonder if he'd even heard her.

Abruptly, Malfoy swung his legs over the edge of the bed, allowing the momentum to carry his body into a sitting position. He leaned forward slightly and met her gaze head on. Hermione searched his beautiful grey eyes for any recognizable emotion. She needed something to work with, somewhere to begin.

"Why should I trust you? Why do you even _want_ me to trust you? You hate me. Why are you helping me, and why didn't whoever opened that door just let me die?!" His voice had risen continuously with each question until he was practically shouting at Hermione.

She didn't flinch, not once. Out of breath and a little embarrassed by his lack of control, Malfoy held his head in his left hand. His right hand was gripping his knee so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Hermione decided to take a couple more steps towards the end of that limb. She quietly moved from her chair to the bed. Her slight frame barely disturbed the mattress. Tenderly, Hermione pried his long fingers away from his knee and slipped her other hand underneath, palm to palm. She noticed that his hand was not soft and pampered as she had anticipated, but rough and calloused. Her dainty hands were completely engulfed in his.

_What are you doing?_

_Winging it._

_I noticed._

_Go away._

Hermione knew she was blushing. Her face and neck felt hot and she could hear her heart beating in her head. Trying her best to ignore the nervous butterflies in her stomach, she soldiered on.

"Because you can. Because everyone needs someone they can rely on. Because I don't hate you and because I just couldn't." She fought to keep her voice calm and even. She had managed to keep her head about her that night, but it would be a while before she would stop thinking about how terrible it had been.

_Please believe me._

Malfoy tensed when he realized that it had been Hermione herself that had opened the door three nights ago. He didn't remove his hand from hers, however. He was staring at the small fire in the fireplace, contemplating what he'd just been told. He looked like he hadn't expected any answers at all, let alone the ones he received.

Finally, he turned and faced her. The look on his face broke Hermione's heart. Her earlier assessment had been correct. He _had_ been beaten one too many times. Beaten, betrayed and left for dead. His eyes were desolate; Draco Malfoy had given up. What was even more alarming was he hadn't even bothered to hide it.

_Why didn't I notice earlier_?

Unable to bear her scrutiny any longer, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

"He's dead," Malfoy stated flatly.

The sad sigh that escaped Hermione's lips was confirmation enough. Malfoy shut his eyes tightly, like the floor was suddenly too distressing for him to continue staring at.

_Deep breaths._

_Don't do it._

_Shut up._

Hermione put the hand closest to him on his lower back and gently squeezed his hand. She felt his rigid muscles relax slightly under her touch. He still didn't open his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione offered sympathetically. She meant that too.

He squeezed her hand in return, taking the comfort she was so freely offering.

_Now we're getting somewhere._

She waited a moment to see if he would say anything.

"It sounds cliché, I know, but talking about it _will_ help. You don't have to tell me anything, but I'll listen if you want me to."

"You're not making any sense, Granger."

_Tell me about it._

"You have every right to hate me."

_Too true._

"And yet, here you are offering your condolences for a man who was just a cruel to you as I was." He was standing up now, facing Hermione and gesturing as much as his wounds would allow.

_Can't argue with that._

_Oh, do shut up._

"Sit down, Malfoy, before you start bleeding all over the place and I have to change your bandages again." She was still a bit shocked by his open display of emotion, but she was glad for it in a strange way. Other than anger and disdain, she had never seen anything like this from him before.

"Stop it," he said fiercely. "I don't deserve you kindness."

"Self loathing is a terrible color on you, Malfoy," Hermione countered sternly.

_That ought to shut him up._

It did. He stared at her, at a loss for words. Hermione took the opportunity to continue. She stood up and looked boldly into his eyes, daring him to argue with her. He was a good head and shoulders taller than her, but she wasn't the least bit afraid of him. Not in this state anyways.

"Whether you deserve my kindness or not is beside the point. You _need_ it. Don't turn away a willing confidant and ally because of some warped sense of self deprecation," she scolded.

_What am I doing?_

"Honestly," she continued, "don't you think our little school yard rivalry seems a bit silly now?"

When she finished speaking, both Malfoy and Hermione simply stood looking at each other. He looked completely lost. She was waiting for a response. Anything. Instead, he looked away. Hermione was beginning to get annoyed.

"For heaven's sake, say something!"

Pause.

"Where's the loo?"

She stared at him, dumbstruck.

"What?"

"Where's the loo?" he repeated.

Hermione could have sworn she saw a shadow of his trademark smirk creep onto his face.

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

"No, I'm trying to get to the bathroom."

The old Malfoy was back, for the moment at least. Hermione couldn't decide if she should be relieved or disappointed. What she did decide, was that she was definitely confused. In the last ten minutes Malfoy had displayed at least half of the emotional spectrum. And he had still managed to get under Hermione's skin.

_Unbelievable._

"Down the hall," she pointed, "last door on the right." Directions being issued, Hermione turned with a huff and marched straight for the door, her heavy boots clunking on the wood floors. She slammed the door behind her so loudly, that Mrs. Black awoke to scream obscenities at her as she passed on her way to the library.

"_Filth! Traitors! Slime! Get out! Get out…"_

Hermione often wondered if Mrs. Black ever grew tired of being ignored. When she entered the library, she made sure to make as much noise with this door as she had the last.

_Well, now that you've thrown a proper tantrum…_

Once inside, she stood in the middle of the room, fuming. She was clenching and unclenching her fists and taking deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. It wasn't really working.

"It's lack of sleep that making me so touchy," she comforted herself aloud. All of these arguments in her head were making her question her sanity. She had definitely been left on her own for far too long.

_Told you to leave it alone._

"Oh, shut _up_."

Annoyed with herself now as much as she was with Malfoy, Hermione walked over to one of the bookshelves. She was having tea with Professor Lupin at half four that afternoon which gave her about three hours to kill. Reading always calmed her down.

She had selected a small book bound in green leather and was about to go sit in the other chair by the fire when something beamed her in the back of the head.

"Ow," she exclaimed, rubbing where it hurt. She looked around for the source of her discomfort. To her surprise she saw a very dazed Pig lying on the floor. She'd completely forgotten that he was even there, and that she'd told him to go to the library. She picked up the tiny owl and laid him on the table. He'd be alright in a few minutes.

_The letter_, she thought excitedly. She had planned on reading it away from Malfoy anyways. She didn't fancy another round of twenty questions. She put the book back where she'd gotten it from and pulled the folded bit of parchment out of her back pocket and opened it. Harry's scratchy penmanship was staring at her.

blockquote _Hermione_,

_Glinsk in Galway was a bust. Rumors of strange happenings in Westmeath. We'll be there by Friday._ _ –H P_ /blockquote 

Hermione was upset, but not surprised at the impersonality of the correspondence. A 'how've you been?' wouldn't kill either of them. Not that Ron ever wrote; it was always Harry. But that didn't matter right now, she had work to do. Starting with the books present in the Black library, she began researching the county of Westmeath, Ireland.

Hermione had been so absorbed in her work that she was quite shocked when the grandfather clock announced that it was 4 o'clock. She hadn't really come up with much, but was not disheartened. Not only was the Black library not very extensive, but wizarding books in general had proved less useful than Muggle books in locating the Horcruxes. Or destroying them for that matter. The subject was so taboo that even the information she could find wasn't very helpful. For the most part Hermione had been winging it.

Since the three of them had begun their search for the remaining Horcruxes, they had literally hit one wall after another. The Slytherin locket had been easy enough to locate, thanks to Mundungus Fletcher's incompetence, but it had taken them almost the entire summer to figure out how to destroy it. Actually, "figured out" would be giving them too much credit. One evening after dinner at the Burrow, Harry had simply put the locket around his neck. He hadn't done it for any real reason, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. With the pendant resting over his heart, it immediately began to smolder and melt and eventually evaporated into the night. Harry still had a faint scar on his chest where the molten silver had branded him.

The Hufflepuff cup, however, had been extremely difficult to find. Following Dumbledore's advice to Harry, they began searching out places that were significant to Voldemort. The orphanage where he grew up, every bit of property his Muggle father as well as his mother's family had ever owned, even in, around and underneath Borgin and Burkes where he worked, all turned up empty. The problem was there were magically hidden places, they were just empty. If there were Horcruxes there at one point, they weren't there anymore.

It was a brilliant stroke of luck that they found Helga's golden cup at all. Hermione, being absent from the Muggle world for over a year was not exactly in the loop when it came to current events. Her mum would send posts occasionally when something that interested her took place, but other than that she was woefully ignorant. It was information mentioned in passing contained in one such post that set the Golden Trio on the correct path for the first time in nearly six months. In her letter, Hermione's mother mentioned that a rash of bizarre murders near Ipswich was still unsolved, and that people in the surrounding towns were becoming seriously concerned. What was even stranger was that the murders had apparently been occurring for over twenty years, and no one had said anything until recently. That was all, two sentences mentioned as an afterthought.

It was a vague and far fetched idea at best, but Hermione had pursued it with a vengeance. Two short weeks later, over Easter Holiday, the three had left the safety of Hogwarts for the town of Ipswich. It had taken them another two weeks of sleuthing to pinpoint the exact location, but Hermione's hunch had proved correct. Double plus: the murders mysteriously stopped as well.

Destroying the cup proved to be more difficult emotionally than literally. To begin with, they were set back two whole months which Hermione spent recovering ever so slowly in the Hospital wing at Hogwarts. Then there was the fact that Harry and Ron, Hermione's two best friends had abandoned her without so much as a goodbye. They had left her to figure out everything on her own while they wandered across the Irish country side with very little information and no direction. She was alone, but at least she was busy.

Hermione was sick of replaying the past year over and over in her head. She looked up at the clock again: 4:15. She hurriedly closed the text she was perusing, tossed the letter from Harry in the fire and made her way downstairs to prepare the tea.

Lupin Flooed into the kitchen at exactly 4:30. He, unlike his significant other, missed sending the kettle flying across the room.

"Good afternoon, Hermione," he greeted. He sounded tired.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she returned as she poured the tea. "How goes it?"

"Same as ever. Minerva and Poppy have got their hands full, that's for sure. It seems like more and more people come seeking refuge every day." He stopped to sip the hot cup of Darjeeling Hermione just handed him. Together they sat down at the worn kitchen table. "Any change with your charge?"

"Actually, he woke up this morning." Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to elaborate on what actually happened. "Gave me quite a shock."

"Really? That's amazing. Poppy hadn't expected him to wakeup until Friday at least." He took another sip, and then added a dash of cream. "How is he?"

"Infuriating. And not behaving at all like himself, until I ask him about what happened Sunday night, that is. Then he's back to his old tricks. I think he might literally be driving me insane."

_Don't lie to yourself. You know you were pretty far gone before he even showed up._

_Oh, don't you start again._

Lupin chuckled a bit but said nothing. Instead he was looking at Hermione with the most peculiar expression on his face. He looked like he knew something that she hadn't even guessed at yet. It was making her nervous and she shifted uncomfortably in the straight backed wooden chair.

"What's going to happen to him now, Professor?" Hermione was genuinely curious. It wasn't everyday that something like this happened. It was unprecedented for protection to be offered to someone at Grimmauld Place, for security purposes. Most wizards who needed it were sent to Hogwarts, but Malfoy had been sent directly here, by Dumbledore no less.

"Well, first, tomorrow afternoon Madame Pomfrey will want to take a look at him and then I would like to talk to him and explain his options. If he desires it, I'm sure we could find someway for him to be made useful. If not, he is welcome to stay here until the war is over."

"What if he becomes a werewolf? What would happen then? I could attempt to make Wolfsbane for the two of you, but it takes so long to brew, and many of the ingredients are really difficult to come by. And there's no guarantee that it would work anyways, even if I did make it right."

"I wouldn't worry about that just now, Hermione. There is more than two weeks left until the next full moon. We'll figure something out by then." Lupin drained the rest of his tea and set the cup delicately down on the table. "There was a reason I wanted to see you today."

Hermione put her cup down too, giving him her full attention.

"I found out where Snape had been hiding these past months, and I was wondering if you would like to accompany me in retrieving this box of memories he left for Harry. A second set of eyes wouldn't hurt, and I know you don't get out much."

"Absolutely," she said rising from the table. "Let me get my coat."

Hermione was not in the least bit surprised at the empty and sterile qualities that the small cabin possessed. The main room was small and contained only minimal furnishings. A shabby looking wingback was positioned next to the fire place, its upholstery so faded it was impossible to tell what color it had originally been. In the back corner, near the door to what Hermione assumed was the bedchamber was an old mahogany desk and matching chair. Other than that, the room was empty.

"You search the desk, while I search the bedroom," Lupin directed.

Hermione nodded her assent and walked over to the desk where she sat and began searching. She found the letterbox almost immediately, which meant that it probably had the most complex locking spells known to wizard kind on it. She set it in her lap and began going through what few personal effects there were on the desk.

There wasn't much. A couple of old Potions books, which she pocketed. You never knew when a good Potions manual would come in handy. There was also a container with several quills and half a dozen ink bottles, along withseveral rolls of unused parchment. Hermione opened the side drawer to find a stack of very old, worn looking sheets of parchment. The only thing was, there was no writing on them. She picked up the topmost sheaf and held it up to the faint sunlight. She could just barely discern the scratch marks from Snape's quill, but she couldn't distinguish the actual letter shapes. Apparently, Snape had a penchant for hiding things in the open.

"I didn't find anything useful," Lupin interrupted Hermione's musings, "but there's a pile of bloody towels on the floor and the washbasin is full of dirty water. Someone's been here. I-" Lupin was cut short by a loud _crack_ as someone Apparated into the room.

As Fenrir Greyback slowly stirred from his death-like slumber, the events of Sunday night came back to him in a flood. He remained on his cot with his eyes closed letting his mind finish its recap before deciding to get up. His den was dark except for a torch guttering weakly near the entrance. He didn't know what day it was, but judging by the raucous bouncing down the cold stone hall, it was close to sundown. Werewolves usually did not run in groups of more than fifteen or so, but with the war continuously at hand, there were at the time almost one hundred and fifty werewolves living in the extensive network of caves that Greyback called his own.

And they were his own. True, the werewolf population, for the most part, was loyal to Lord Voldemort, but they would obey an order from Greyback before the Dark Lord. It was one reason that there was so little trust between the maniacal wizard and the Alpha werewolf.

He stood up gingerly; he wasn't as young as he used to be and his body remembered its discomforts for much longer than it used to. His chest was still tender from the curse that that stupid Malfoy boy had sent his way. As if in consolation, he could still taste traces of the whelp's blood in his mouth.

Ignoring his rumbling stomach, he left his private chamber to join the other men out in the main part of the cave. He needed to know what day it was, how much time he had wasted sleeping.

He stopped the first person he saw, which happened to be a mildly attractive young woman. She couldn't have been much older than sixteen. A look of utmost terror crossed her features when she realized who was addressing her.

"What day is it?" he asked gruffly.

"Je ne parle pas anglais, monsieur," the girl squeaked in fright. Luckily for her he was still half asleep and became confused rather than enraged.

"What did you say?" It had sounded like French to his ears, but he wasn't familiar with the language in the least.

"Desolee, je suis desolee, monsieur. Pardonez moi," the girl said frantically. She began backing away from him with her head bowed repeating the same phrases over and over again.

_Since when did we have Frenchies hanging around?_

Distracted by the little scene that had just played out before him, Greyback didn't notice when a man (speaking English, thankfully) walked up to him and began talking.

"Sir?" the man was trying to get his attention. Greyback recognized him as Freddy Benjamin, a hard working a willing soldier.

"What day is it?" Greyback repeated his question, not really caring what Freddy was telling him.

"It's Wednesday evenin', sir. You've been out cold for three days. 'At's what I've been tryin' to tell yeh," he continued excitedly. "We tried to rouse yeh yesterday when they all showed up 'ere, but you were dead to the world, sir."  
"What are you talking about?" Greyback questioned curiously. After his encounter with the little French girl, Freddy had his attention.

"The Frenchies, sir," he replied. "They just showed up 'ere yesterday mornin' sayin' 'at Lord Voldemort wanted us to take 'em in, sir."

Greyback was nothing less than outraged at this bit of information. Once again, Voldemort was treading on thin ice. It was a game for him, seeing how far he could push the werewolf. It was the only way he had to test Greyback's loyalty.

"Who's their Alpha? Has he given you any trouble?"

"Actually, sir, it's a woman," Freddy said timidly. He knew Greyback's temperament was changeable at best, and a female Alpha was absolutely unheard of. He was just the messenger, after all.

Greyback glared at Freddy incredulously. "You're joking, right?" He'd only been awake for about ten minutes and it was turning out to be the strangest day he'd had in a while, years possibly. "That's impossible."

Freddy nodded his head vigorously as if to convince Greyback that it was true. "Word is, 'er mate used to 'old the position until 'ee died in a raid 'bout eight months ago. Afterwards, she fought off any challengers and kep' the title for 'erself. She ain't been no trouble, though. Kep' to 'erself, mos'ly. Says she wants to talk to yeh, sir, at yer earliest convenience of course."

A rumble sounded deep in Greyback's throat. He smiled inwardly when Freddy took a cautious step back. He was torn between continuing his search for Malfoy or dealing with this impertinent woman immediately. Both tasks were personal as well as professional. Not only had he been ordered by Voldemort to kill the boy, but Greyback now had to avenge his honor. He had been bested by a half-dead child. And this fool of a woman had to be put in her place quickly.

He took several moments to debate his next course of action, during which Freddy took two or three more steps backward.

"Let the bitch wait," he snarled. "I have better things to do than oblige her."

Leaving a stunned Freddy in his wake, Greyback strode purposefully through _his_ maze of tunnels and caves and into the chill dusk. By his reckoning, it was about five o'clock, giving him roughly an hour to return by sundown. Fortunately there was only one place he needed to go this evening.

Using his anger to warm him in the absence of his cloak, Greyback Disapparated directly into the main room of the late Severus Snape's cabin.

Fenrir Greyback's strangest day was quickly turning into his worst. He had not been expecting to find anyone at Snape's. Accordingly, he was just as shocked to Apparate into the middle of a conversation between Remus Lupin and a pretty witch with curly hair as they were to see him standing there.

The witch reacted first, knocking over the chair she was sitting in as she hastily rose. Instantaneously, she had her wand out and pointed squarely at Greyback's chest. She took two steps to her left and snatched a smooth black box to her chest. Her eyes never left her target.

"Greyback," Lupin snarled. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Greyback glared back and forth between wizard and witch before he responded. "That's no way to welcome an old friend now, is it?" He was outnumbered, but if he played his cards just right, he might still get what he came for.

He would have to eliminate Lupin first. He didn't know who the witch was, but he sincerely doubted she was more of a threat than the other werewolf.

He let his gaze settle on the witch who still had the letterbox clutched tightly to her breast. He smiled maliciously and said, "Give me the box, witch, and I might leave enough of you for them to give you a proper burial."

His devilish smile broadened when she reacted to his words. All of the blood drained from her face and she took another step back away from him. Now that she was, hopefully, distracted enough, Greyback did not hesitate in making his move.

In a heartbeat, he'd whipped out his wand and shouted, _ "Stupefy!"_

Lupin shouted _"Protego!"_ in return, but not quickly enough. The spell hit him square in the chest, blasting him against the wall a few feet behind him. Unconscious, Remus Lupin slumped to the ground.

However, before Greyback could turn his attention to the witch, his wand was suddenly ripped out of his hand.

"_Expelliarmus!_ _" _

Greyback turned in time to watch his wand join hers in her small hand. He growled as he stepped menacingly toward the young witch.

"You think that because you have my wand that I won't tear you limb from limb?"

He was mildly impressed to see her features harden instead of crumble in fear.

"You, listen to me," she said fiercely. "You can't have him. You've ruined enough lives already, I won't let you ruin his any more than you already have."

"And how exactly do you plan on going about that, poppet?" he taunted.

"_You_ can call me Granger," she said through clenched teeth. "And you would do well to remember it."

To Greyback, the whole scene was almost amusing.

"Tell me, _Granger_, why is that?" He was still teasing her, but his anger was bubbling just below the surface. Even so, he had to admit that he was impressed with her audacity. It had been a long time since someone had openly defied him, especially someone of her dimensions.

"Because, _Greyback_," she returned, "if you _ever_ lay a hand on him again, I will personally see to it that it is the last thing you ever do on this earth. That's a promise."

His rage overcame his amusement at her declaration. Belligerence he could allow, but this impudent witch had just threatened him to his face. No one threatened Fenrir Greyback without paying the consequences. With a roar of fury, he leapt at her, intent on breaking every bone in her body.

"_Levicorpus!"_

Suddenly, his stomach turned and every drop of blood in his body rushed to his head. Greyback found himself staring at the room from a different perspective: upside down. Through his blind rage, he only barely noticed Lupin stirring on the ground.

"You'll regret this, _Granger_."

She quirked an eyebrow in an unspoken taunt. "Just remember what I told you, _Greyback_. " She edged away from the door to the bedroom, careful to remain out of his reach. _"Mobilicorpus,"_ she incanted as she flicked her wand towards the door.

Greyback fought against the swaying motion as his body began floating towards the open door. She flicked her wand downward so that his body cleared the doorframe, but bashed his head painfully into the floor. He growled, murder in his eyes, but his threatening demeanor was somewhat downplayed by his embarrassing position.

He floated a few feet into the room where ended the spell and he was dumped indecorously into a heap on the floor. He hadn't even had time to stand before she had slammed and locked the door, shutting him in.

His rage was unrivaled. He had been humiliated by children twice in the past three days. He began savagely throwing himself at the door, attempting to free himself before Lupin and that bloody witch left, _with_ the letterbox.

He let out a howl of frustration when he heard two sharp _cracks_ signaling their departure.

Hermione was half supporting Professor Lupin when they _popped_ into existence on Grimmauld Place. He had received the full blast of Greyback's stunning spell and was still recovering. She still had Snape's letterbox grasped firmly in her hand, her white knuckles contrasted sharply with its smooth black surface.

They made their way to the house and down into the kitchen. Lupin plopped ungracefully into one of the wooden chairs that lined the table. He grimaced uncomfortably, "I'm getting too old for this, Hermione."

"I'm just plain sick of this," Hermione replied as she joined her former teacher at the table. She sighed heavily and placed her forehead on the rough tabletop.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes, I've just never been threatened with dismemberment before."

"Well, I'd say you handled yourself admirably."

Hermione snorted in response.

"You got us out of there, didn't you? I'm the one who should be embarrassed," he argued. "You expect too much of yourself, Hermione."

"I know." She did, but one doesn't become the brightest witch her year without high expectations.

Just then their conversation was interrupted as a large tawny owl soared gracefully into the kitchen and landed neatly in front of Remus. They both immediately recognized it as belonging to the owlery at Hogwarts. It hooted it's greeting at stuck out its leg so that Lupin could untie the missive. Having delivered its message, the owl left the kitchen heading towards the library and its open window.

Lupin unrolled and read the letter in silence. "That was from Minerva," he explained as he rose from his chair. Politely, Hermione stood as well. "She said she needs to see me right away."

He walked over to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the bin on the mantel. He threw it in and shouted, "Hogwarts, Headmistress' office!"

"I'll watch the memories tonight, and owl you if there's anything important or useful," Hermione said.

"I think that's a good idea." He turned to jump into the now green flames, but paused. "By the way, what was it you told Greyback that was so important that he should remember it?"

Hermione blushed ever so slightly and waved her hand, dismissing the question. "Nothing, really. Say hello to Tonks, will you?" Hermione smiled, hoping he would drop it.

Lupin studied her suspiciously for a moment. "I will. Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Professor."

With a _whoosh_ and burst of green flames, he was gone.

Hermione left the kitchen, lost in her own thoughts. Mechanically, she hung her coat up next to the front door and proceeded upstairs. As she clunked up the carpeted steps she could hear the soft clink of the phials within the letterbox as they bumped into one another. She could hardly believe how the last half an hour had transpired.

Blindly Hermione walked to the third door on the left and entered. She closed the door softly and leaned up against it for support. The room was almost completely dark now, but Hermione wasn't seeing it anyways. Her mind was replaying the scene at Snape's. She couldn't believe her brashness.

_You sodding idot._ She berated herself. _Like you needed another target on your back._ Not only had she openly threatened Fenrir Greyback's life, she had then proceeded to humiliate him. _Brightest witch our year my arse._

What made the whole situation worse was she couldn't even rationalize her actions. She hadn't just threatened him; she had threatened him for _Malfoy._

_You've gone completely, stark raving mad._

_You really don't need to remind me._

She sunk to the floor, clutching the letterbox to her chest. She was trembling, and it wasn't because the room was chill. She was unaccustomed to behaving like Harry, and the implied consequences of her actions were nerve wracking. There was now a very real chance that Greyback's threat might one day be realized.

_You just had to tell him your name, didn't you?_

_I get it, already. I'm an idiot. Are you happy?_

_Hardly._

Hermione was staring blankly in to the side of the dresser a few feet away. She was losing circulation in her legs, but she didn't care. She wasn't entirely sure she could stand anyways. Tomorrow, she would be able to take pride in defending herself and rescuing Lupin from one of the most terrifying people in England. She had kept her head about her, and humiliated him in the process, but right now she would let her emotions have free reign.

"Are you alright, Granger?"

Hermione jumped back into the corner where the door met the wall and had her wand out in an instant.

"Shite," she swore under her breath when she realized that it was just Malfoy, and not the werewolf whose face would now be added to her nightmares. She lowered her wand to the ground and let her head fall back to rest on the wall. _Bloody Malfoy_.

"Oh, I'm brilliant," she responded sarcastically. "Just had a run-in with your friend Greyback is all."


	5. A Stroll Down Memory Lane

**A Stroll Down Memory Lane**

"Are you alright, Granger?" Draco asked, a little confused. She'd entered the room almost five minutes ago looking like death warmed over, and other than allowing herself to slide down onto the floor, she had yet to make a move. She simply sat curled up on the floor staring blankly ahead.

At least she was until he spoke up. At the sound of his voice in the quiet room, Granger jumped, wedging herself into the corner where the door met the wall behind her. She had her wand out reflexively, and it was pointed squarely at Draco's chest.

He was surprised at how easily startled the brave Gryffindor was. Granger was notoriously high-strung, but he'd never known her to be jumpy before. Draco was quite curious as to what could have happened to make her so nervous.

Draco once again found himself studying his school yard enemy intently. It disturbed him that he was so fascinated by her. Perhaps it was because she was acting like a complete lunatic.

Granger sighed and lowered her wand when she recognized his voice.

"Oh, I'm brilliant." Draco was impressed by the amount of sarcasm she'd crammed into those three simple words. "Just had a run-in with your friend Greyback is all."

Draco flinched instinctively at the sound of the werewolf's name being spoken. The last time he'd heard it, he had been standing in a dark alley with his now dead mentor. That had been about thirty seconds before the monster had attacked him with the intention of removing Draco's head from his shoulders.

Roughly, Draco forced his attention back to the present. He really, _really_ didn't want to think about that; not now, not ever. He didn't remember every detail yet, but he knew that what he could recall was enough to keep him awake for the next decade.

Taking a shaky breath, Granger squeezed her eyes shut and let her head fall back onto the wall. Even from that distance and in the very dim light, Draco could tell that she was trembling.

_It must have been one hell of a run-in._

"Playing the courageous Gryffindor again? You know, Granger, there's a fine line between bravery and stupidity. And judging by the look on your face, I'd say you crossed it tonight."

He couldn't ever remember seeing her this rattled. Although he had to admit that Fenrir Greyback did have that effect on people. He knew first hand what that nightmare was capable of.

"I'm sure you'd know all about that, wouldn't you Malfoy?"

_Ouch. Score two for team Granger._ _She's not the only one who can play that game._

However, Draco's witty retort died on his lips as he watched Granger unsuccessfully attempt to get off of the floor. She had managed to rise about halfway, using the doorjamb for support, when she fell forward onto her knees. She only just barely put her arm out to prevent her from falling face first onto the hard floor. It was like her legs had simply refused to function for her.

Impulsively, Draco slid out of bed. It only took him a second to reach her side, and before he could think better of his actions or she thought to protest, Draco crouched down and wrapped his good arm about her waist. He easily lifted her slight frame to standing and let her lean on him for support as he slowly lead her to her chair.

Draco marveled at how his hand fit perfectly into the soft curve of her waist, just above the hip. And she was just the right height, making his arm being draped across her shoulder seem like the most natural thing in the world. His stomach gave an unexpected flutter when she didn't shy away from the contact, or his help, but leaned into his body instead.

_What the bloody hell is in your head?_

_I'm helping her to the chair._

_That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. This is Granger you're getting all friendly with._

Draco shook his head, ending the dispute before it became a full-fledged argument. His head hurt quite enough already, thank you.

He wasn't entirely sure, however, if the argument wasn't unwarranted. After his embarrassing little display this afternoon, he was positive that Granger's insanity was rubbing off on him. Not only had he displayed more emotion in ten minutes than he had in his whole life, but he had welcomed the comfort she was offering.

The feel of her small hand on his back and her smooth skin on his own had calmed him, right down to his soul. He had never felt so peaceful before. What left Draco feeling unsettled was the fact that it was Hermione Granger that was making him feel that way. He didn't know what she was playing at, but it gave him a headache just thinking about it.

The sharp pain that jolted through Draco's chest as he lowered Granger into the chair brought him back to the dark room. He watched worriedly as she once again drew her knees up to her chest. For the first time, Draco noticed how fragile she looked. Her entire body fit into the chair.

Draco sat down on the edge of his bed and leaned forward, much in the same manner he had just a few hours ago. Only this time it was Granger's turn to speak, not his.

Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, causing Draco's heart to inexplicably skip a beat. Granger broke contact, preferring to stare at her hand as she nervously thumbed the hem of her jeans. The room was darkening quickly as the sun set, but Draco was certain he saw a faint blush tinge her cheeks.

"Thank you," she said, ever so softly.

Draco couldn't tell if she was nervous or embarrassed. _Maybe both, _he mused.

"You look bloody terrible, Granger."

It wasn't a lie, at least. Other than the blush on her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes, she was white as a sheet. Seeing her so openly vulnerable was something that he would have taken advantage of in the cruelest way possible at school, but he couldn't bring himself to do so now. It was disquieting to see her like that.

_Since when do you care?_

_Since now, I suppose…_

_Why?_

_Good question._

She looked up and met his gaze. Even Draco noticed the lack of malice that was usually present in his voice. It just didn't seem worth the effort. Besides, he wasn't trying to piss her off, he was trying to get her to talk.

"And sensitive too," she countered with mock adoration.

Draco felt a smile tug at his lips, but he bit it back. He wanted to keep this dialogue open. It could prove interesting.

"So," Draco began, "I see you're not having any trouble putting your neck on the block, even without Potter and Weasley. What was so important that you'd risk the wrath of Fenrir Greyback?"

"This," Granger replied more loudly, blatantly ignoring the jab. She withdrew a black wooden box, which Draco had yet to notice, from its place wedged between her chest and thighs. She held it in front of her and began turning it over and over, surveying every inch of the smooth wood.

"Something useful, I hope," Draco responded, almost playfully. He was really enjoying their banter. It had been along time since he'd had anyone to talk to, and he was liking this more than he'd admit. The only surprise was that Granger was participating.

"Me too," she sighed. Her eyes never left the object in her hands.

"You mean you don't know what it is?" He was expecting her to flee the room in a fit at any moment. Instead she just rolled her eyes.

"Of course I know what it is, Malfoy. I just don't know if it will be helpful or for what purpose." She stated it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

_Good ol' Granger._

"And he wasn't supposed to be there," she continued defensively. "No one should have been there."

"What's in the box?" Draco asked bluntly, letting his curiosity get the better of him. Granger was obviously in a sharing mood and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"Memories," she stated just as bluntly.

That was not the answer Draco had been expecting. He raised one eyebrow and asked, "Whose memories?"

Granger was openly staring at him, her face full of indecision.

"They're Snape's," she said finally.

Draco had not expected that answer either, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. He fought to regain a regular breathing pattern as he forced the image of Snape's torn body lying bloody on the cobblestones from his mind. His mentor's name being spoken brought on a whole new tidal wave of memories, memories that he wished he'd never have in his head.

He saw Snape hurling spells and curses at the huge werewolf while he knelt in the street struggling to remain conscious. He saw Snape's body fall heavily to the ground as the monster turned and set his sights on himself. Draco saw Snape clutching at his robes with the only arm he had left before going limp as his life left him. He remembered leaving Snape's dead weight at the bottom of the steps while he used the last of his strength to stand and knock on a great black door…

Draco barely heard the sound of something clattering to the floor over the noise of his blood rushing in his ears. He hadn't even realized that he'd closed his eyes, but when he opened them he found himself kneeling on the floor with a face full of curly brown hair. He didn't recall sliding off of the bed, and he certainly did not recall Granger catching him.

"Merlin," he whispered, taking a deep breath.

_Her hair is softer than I thought…_

_You did not just think that._

Draco felt her arms tighten around his body ever so slightly before she placed her hands on his shoulders and drew back.

Except for the small pile of scarlet embers in the fireplace, the room was completely dark, but Draco attempted to study her face anyways. She was biting her bottom lip and her brow was furrowed, the guilt showing plainly. Only her eyes were hidden from him. Ironically, they were what he wanted to look at the most.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said softly. "I shouldn't have told you."

Draco opened his mouth to say…to say what? That it was ok, not her fault? _True._ That it didn't really bother him and the he couldn't say what had come over him? _False._

What he really wanted was to just scream at her. Well, maybe not at her, but definitely to her. It didn't even matter that it was Granger; he just wanted to scream at _someone. _

He wanted to tell her how terrifying it was to have to come to terms with your own death at the age of eighteen. How, it's still scary, even if you secretly wish for it. He should have died three nights ago, but she had saved him. Draco didn't think that he had ever hated anyone as much as he hated Hermione Granger at that moment. It was taking every ounce self control that he possessed not to open the flood gates and unleash tirade on his "willing confidante". He wanted to make her regret her offer. He felt the anger and hatred boil up inside of him until he was sure he could see it pouring off of his body in waves.

If Granger noticed his mood swing, she didn't let on. Or maybe she was just used to them. She was friends with Potter and Weasley. Instead she did the most peculiar thing. She reached up and brushed a lock of silver-blonde hair out of his eyes. The intimate gesture effectively killed any nasty remark Draco might have spit out.

"After a while, they won't rush in like that anymore," she said knowingly. She offered a little half smile, but the sadness in her voice suggested that she'd come across that bit of knowledge for a price.

The anger began to subside at Granger's comforting words, leaving Draco feeling all the more hollow in its absence. He was mentally and emotionally exhausted. He didn't know why she had such a relaxing effect on him, but he was grateful for it just then. He wanted nothing more than to simply turn his brain off for a couple of hours.

_Good luck with that, mate._

"Come," Granger said, ending his musings, "let's get you up. I need to change your dressings anyways."

With only a little help, Draco was able to get off of the floor and into Granger's chair. He felt numb now, but it was better than the rollercoaster he'd been on for most of the day. As much as he appreciated her reassuring presence, he hated being so…helpless.

Yes, Snape had been hiding him, but he had been taking care of himself for quite some time now. If he wanted food, clothing or anything else for that matter he had to go find it. It had been a long time since anything had been given to him, which made his situation here at Grimmauld Place that much more uncomfortable for him. Not only was he not in a position to take care of himself, but he was at the mercy of the Order of the Phoenix. Letter from Dumbledore or not, they had been hunting him almost as fervently as Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. From Draco's point of view, the whole situation was rather bleak. He didn't even have his wand.

As Draco sat limply in the chair, Granger went about gathering supplies. After rekindling the fire with a flick of her wand, she walked over to the dresser and collected all of the necessary materials to change his bandages. Once she had everything she needed she knelt on the floor in front of Draco and lined up the bandages in the order that she would use them.

"Sit up straight and try not to move." She repeated the instructions she'd given him earlier that day, and just as gently. He complied automatically, even going as far as to lift his arm slightly, giving her better access.

She worked quickly, like she'd done it a hundred times before.

_That's because she_ has _done it a hundred times._

"Look on the bright side," she began out of nowhere. "At least you're only trying to remember one night and not two whole weeks."

The sound of her sweet voice snapped him out of his trance and he took a minute to ponder the seemingly random statement.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Granger?"

_Since when did she become so enigmatic?_

"Exactly what I said. Should I have your ears checked as well?" she retorted.

"Since when did you become so cynical? I thought all of you Gryffindors were supposed to see the world through rose colored glasses?" His reply was meant to be caustic, but it just sounded confused. That's how tired he was.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking that you were the only one who had a rough year, Malfoy. While you were on the run, we were out trying to end this bloody war."

She had finished unwrapping the gauze and had removed the dressings leaving Draco's chest bare. For the first time, he was able to survey the damage. Even though most of it was healed up, with the exception of one long gash that stretched from his collar bone down to his sternum, his torso looked dreadful. He was heavily bruised from the sheer weight of the monster and the scarring was heavy, especially on and around his right shoulder. It sickened him to think that this would be his body for the rest of his life.

Granger must have seen him looking at the ugly scars because she spoke up.

"You get used to them after a while." Her tone was much gentler than it was a moment ago. Without waiting for a response, she began placing the clean dressings on his wound, hiding the nasty reminders once more. He didn't really want to look at them anymore anyways.

Draco remembered seeing Granger's own scars, as well as her response when he'd asked her about them. Obviously he didn't know what happened, but he'd put every Galleon in his family's vault at Gringott's that it had something to do with Potter. Why else would they have left her behind?

_Don't sound so annoyed._

Finished with her task, Granger stood up, breaking Draco's train of thought. "I'm going to go make us a bit of dinner. It shouldn't take me long." She began walking towards the door, but his question stopped her in her tracks.

"Why were you looking for Snape's memories in the first place?" he blurted out. He didn't understand how she knew anything about Snape when he actually had contact with the man, and he didn't know jack.

"Because he sent Lupin a letter asking that we get them to Harry," she said with a sigh. "And as Harry is currently unavailable, I went."

"What happened?"

For a split second he thought that Granger was going to leave without answering his question. She looked like she really didn't want to talk about it, but something changed her mind.

"We were getting ready to leave when he showed up. Professor Lupin was livid. It was Greyback that made him a werewolf as a child, so, naturally, there's a fair amount of bad blood between the two. He told me that if I gave him the box that he'd leave enough of my body behind for them to bury. Then he hit Lupin with a spell and knocked him unconscious. I disarmed him before he had a chance to hex me, to which he responded by threatening to rip my limbs from my body. Then," she paused here like she wasn't sure if she should say the next part or not.

"Then _what_?" Draco asked impatiently.

She took a deep breath and continued, "Then I threatened his life, turned him upside down, locked him in the bedroom and Disapparated with Professor Lupin. And the box, of course."

She said all of this in one breath. Draco must have had a funny expression on his face, because she took one look at him and spun on her heel, intent on leaving. When she got to the door Draco finally found his tongue.

"Why would you do something so stupid?" The idea of someone purposefully putting themselves on Fenrir Greyback's hit list was just ludicrous. His inner Slytherin was retching at the thought. "What did you say?"

"I told him that if he ever laid a hand on you again that it would be the last thing he ever did."

And then she was gone, leaving Draco with his jaw in his lap.

_She's gone completely mental._

* * *

Hermione closed the door softly behind her and stood in the hallways blushing furiously, cursing herself all the while. She had never planned on telling Malfoy what she had said to Greyback. The words just sort of popped out of her mouth, much like the threat itself had.

It had most definitely been the dumbest day of Hermione Granger's life.

She groaned and hung her head in her hands, completely embarrassed by her lack of restraint. At the moment it was the most difficult thing she had ever done not to give into the urge to flee the house and never have to look at Draco Malfoy again. Luckily she had things to accomplish that night and her sensible side still had _some_ say. At least it did where Malfoy wasn't concerned.

Straightening her shoulders and ignoring the mildly nauseous feeling in her gut, Hermione went to the library. There was one more book she wanted to look through before admitting defeat for the night. She also wanted to see if the Black library had any texts on unlocking charms. There was no telling what kind of spells Snape would use to keep his secrets safe.

Entering the library, Hermione stood in the pitch black room and let the faint scent of old books wash over her. It never failed to calm her nerves. She needed it today. Her impulsive behavior had not only made the already awkward situation with Malfoy all the more so, but it had also put her life in very real danger.

Resignedly, she used her wand to light the lamps on the walls. Thankfully, Pig was absent. Hermione always left the window open, so he was probably out getting his own supper. Making her way over to the table she had been using earlier, she began digging through the pile of books until she found the one she was looking for. Pulling the medium sized book form the middle of the stack she read the cover, _Ancient Wizarding Families and Their Ancestral Homes, Illustrated._ She didn't know if would have anything useful, but given Voldemort's obsession with blood purity, it was worth a shot.

Next she moved over to the narrow set of shelves that occupied the space between the two windows. Hermione knew that all of the Black's books on charms were located there. Most of them involved Dark magic, but she wasn't about to rule it out. Snape was a Death Eater after all. To her great surprise, there was a book that might prove useful. It was small and bound in black leather. On its spine were the Latin words _Conservare Tuas Occultas Tutas,_ or, translated into English, _Keeping Your Secrets Safe. _Satisfied, Hermione went downstairs to the kitchen.

After quickly tossing the ingredients for beef stew into a pot to simmer, Hermione sat at the kitchen table and began thumbing through _Ancient Wizarding Families and Their Ancestral Homes._ The illustrations were amazing. The drawings were enchanted, much like wizarding photographs; depicting the property in question along with the owners at the time the book was composed. Each family and its home had its own chapter with a brief description of the grounds as well as a concise family history. At the end of each chapter, was a family tree.

Fascinated, but not wanting to waste time, Hermione flipped to the back and began searching the index. She grinned excitedly when her finger ran over _Westmeath, Ireland_. Careful not to rip any pages, she quickly flipped to page 214.

Tullynally castle was magnificent. It wasn't especially large (for a castle), but it was every bit as graceful as Hogwarts. A forest of towers and turrets, it sat regally atop a gentle hill surrounded by a peppering of trees.

However beautiful the rendering might have been, it still left Hermione feeling agitated. Her disquiet overshadowed her excitement when she realized that the illustration was lacking the one thing all of the other she'd viewed had. There was no family standing in front of the building waving at her. Instead, a group of large hideous dog-like creatures bounded across the page as if they were chasing something. Hermione could have sworn the heard the savage looking animals bark and growl at her.

Shaking it off, she began to read. What she learned was downright shocking. The original owner of the castle was Simeon Slytherin- Salazar Slytherins' brother. He's had no children, but still managed to leave his legacy behind. Apparently, he too had an obsession with the Dark Arts and he used it to breed all manner of cursed creatures. His favorites were the hounds. Ironically, it was his beloved monstrosities that ruined him. He was using them to murder Muggles. When the Ministry caught wind of this, they had him imprisoned; he died a year later.

However, before they took him away, he placed a Concealment Charm on the castle. He didn't want anyone finding out his secrets. Ministry officials were sent to dispatch the hounds, but none were found. Since the Muggle killings stopped, the castle and its denizens faded from memory.

It remained forgotten until the mid-17th century. It took the better part of four hundred years, but the Concealment Charm finally ceased functioning from neglect, revealing the castle to the world.

The Muggle monarch at the time gave the castle and lands to one of his bravest knights, Thomas Pakenham. However, Pakenham's residency was short lived, as was ever other family member's time spent at the castle. It remained in the family, but no one ever stayed for more than a year. Finally, in 1904, the Pakenham family sold the property to the Irish government. The state opened the whole estate for tourism in the spring and summer.

Hermione looked up from the text, eyes and mouth wide with shock.

_Slytherin._

She wasn't sure she even believed what she'd read. Never in all of her researching, not once in all of the times she'd read _Hogwarts, A History,_ had she ever seen mentioned the crazy brother of Salazar Slytherin. But, that didn't make it impossible. The dates were correct, and since Simeon never had any children, it was not so far-fetched that his name might have been lost to the tides of time.

Then, another thought occurred to Hermione. As far as Wizarding Law was concerned, the castle and properties never left Slytherin hands. That meant that it still belonged to the heir of Slytherin. It belonged to Voldemort.

Finally, she had some good news. If the wand of Rowena Ravenclaw wasn't hidden somewhere in Tullynally castle, then Hermione swore she'd turn over her wand. It just made too much sense to be a coincidence.

Thrilled, relieved and anxious simultaneously, Hermione distractedly ladled out the bubbling stew, grabbed both books and went upstairs. Meals with Malfoy were torture, but she was determined not to let him run her off (again). She just had to try harder not to let him push her buttons. She had her work cut out for her.

This time she entered their bedroom without hesitation. The fire was still blazing, warmly illuminating the tiny room. Malfoy, who was standing at the window, on hand on either side of the exposed pane, did not even turn to acknowledge Hermione's presence.

"Do you want me to get you a chair, or would you prefer to eat in bed?" she asked, startling him.

He whipped around, his hand grabbing reflexively for a wand he didn't have. His actions belied his cool façade.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" Hermione teased.

Malfoy smirked for half a second, but didn't rise to the bait.

"A chair's fine…please."

_Did I hear that properly? Since when does Draco Malfoy ask politely for anything?_

Hermione was stunned to say the least. She almost laughed at the uncomfortable expression on his face. Malfoy was obviously unaccustomed to using the six-letter word.

"Sometime tonight, Granger," he remarked, swiftly regaining his composure. "I'd hate for the food to get cold while you're standing there like one o'clock half struck."

_And, he's back._

_You didn't expect that to last, did you?_

"Right," was all she could think of to say. Hermione set the tray carefully on the floor, tossed her books onto the seat of her chair and went to the library to fetch its mate.

Since Pig had returned from searching for his own meal, Hermione took the time to compose a short letter to Harry

_Harry,_

_Tullynally castle was once owned by Simeon Slytherin, Salazar's brother. Pease be careful, I have a bad feeling about this._

_Love, _

_HG_

Tying the note onto an extremely excited Pig, she sighed sadly as the tiny owl flew proudly out into the night. Hermione did have a bad feeling. She couldn't quite place her finger on it, but something was off.

_And there's nothing I can do about it…_

Supper passed in much the same manner as breakfast and lunch. Hermione inhaled her food and then began another unsuccessful attempt to read in Malfoy's presence. Malfoy on the other hand, ate slowly, taking long pauses between each spoonful and stealing glances at Hermione all the while. The silence was so thick; they could have eaten it with a spoon.

Eventually, Malfoy finished and set the empty bowl on the floor. He then leaned forwards and stared at her face intently, waiting for her to acknowledge him. Even though Hermione had her nose in _Conservare Tuas Occultas Tutas_, she had been watching Malfoy the entire time. He was fascinating.

Finally, she asked, "What is it, Malfoy?" Her eyes never left the page she wasn't reading.

"I'm going to watch them with you," he said bluntly. The tone in his voice left little room for argument, but Hermione wasn't one to be bossed around.

She snorted. "You are, are you?"

"Granger, I'm serious."

"I know," she replied, meeting his gaze.

"I knew Snape far better than you did. I might recognize something that's important, that would have meant something to him that you wouldn't notice," he argued.

Hermione considered his words carefully. He had a point, even if she didn't want to admit it. She felt that he had no business joining her. They were meant for Harry, which gave Hermione the sneaking suspicion that they somehow involved their search for the Horcruxes. If that were the case, then Malfoy was probably better off not knowing. However, she reasoned, did she really want to miss out on a vital piece of information just because it was Malfoy who was asking?

It took her a minute, but she made up her mind.

"Ask me nicely," she said, trying not to smile. It wasn't working, which caused Malfoy's scowl to deepen.

"Very funny, Granger."

"Come on, Malfoy. It won't hurt, I promise."

_This is too easy_.

"Fine," he growled. _"Please,_ may I watch the memories with you?"

_By the look on his face, I'd say it did hurt…_

"Of course," she replied. "Now all we need to do is open the bloody thing."

After thirty minutes, Hermione and Malfoy were not one bit closer to opening the box than they were when they began. They had tried every unlocking charm they knew between the two of them, as well as several Hermione uncovered in the ancient Latin text, to no avail. Hermione was used to hitting dead ends. Malfoy was most definitely not.

"Bloody hell," he swore irritably. He was pacing back and forth in front of the fire, running his hands through his platinum hair.

Hermione wasn't really paying attention to him; she was used to short tempers. She was also trying to come up with a solution and focusing on how Malfoy's hair reflected the warm firelight was decidedly _not_ productive.

"I think we're looking at this wrongly," she thought aloud. "What are some other ways to open things that are magically sealed?"

"Password?"

Hermione's face lit up. "Malfoy, I think that's the most brilliant thing you've ever said."  
"That's well and good," he said, clearly unhappy with her declaration, "but it could be any of a billion words or word combinations. We're no better off now than half an hour ago."

"We'll just have to start guessing," Hermione returned as she rolled her eyes. "Maybe your familiarity with Snape will come in useful after all."

They spent the next hour guessing anything they could think of; A to Z, Dumbledore to Voldemort and everything in between. Malfoy had given up pacing long ago, and was sitting cross-legged on the floor across from Hermione. She had her head in her hands trying to think as Malfoy spouted off a list of potion ingredients. Suddenly, she picked her head up and looked at the box which she had placed on the floor between them.

"Horcrux," she said with total confidence. She just _knew_.

Malfoy halted mid-word when the lid sprang open revealing five small glass phials filled with a swirling silver liquid.

"Malfoy did little to hide his astonishment. After an hour and a half of failed attempts, it appeared as though she had been hit with a seemingly random word out of nowhere.

"How-"

"Lucky guess," she interrupted, dismissing his question. Hermione knew he knew she was lying. She was a terrible liar. Of course the worried frown on her face did little to dissuade him.

She couldn't decide if she should be pleased or anxious that "Horcrux" had been the password. She didn't understand how Snape could have known. Hermione had been under the impression that Harry, Ron and herself were the only people who knew about their mission, but she wasn't about to believe it was a mere coincidence.

"Your face is going to get stuck like that, Granger," Malfoy teased, tapping her forehead with one of his long fingers. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn that he was trying to lighten the mood.

"Very funny," Hermione replied as she swatted his hand away.

_Merlin, he's acting strange._

_He's probably just trying to piss you off again._

"I'll get the Pensieve," she said as she stood up and left the room.

First she went to her wardrobe and dug out the single memory that Snape had sent Professor Lupin. She hadn't watched it yet; she wanted the complete set.

Stuffing the tiny phial in the front pocket of her jeans, Hermione ran up to the next floor to Harry's and Ron's bedroom. Bending over, she whispered "Snuffles" into the keyhole and went inside. The Pensieve was stashed underneath Harry's bed. Hermione got down on her hands and knees and grabbed one of the handles. Harry had had a briefcase-like box made to house it, only there were two handles on each side instead of one on the top.

When Hermione returned to the bedroom, Malfoy was waiting for her on the bed with the box of memories in his lap. She knelt on the floor in front of the bed and gestured for Malfoy to sit next to her.

"They're numbered, but one's missing, number three," he said as Hermione removed the Pensieve from its case and set it on the bed. She dug in her pocket and withdrew the last phial.

"You mean this?"

"Where did you get that?"

"Snape sent it to Lupin along with the letter, and no, I haven't watched it yet." She took a moment to tie her hair back at the nape of her neck before continuing. "Have you ever done this before?"

He shook his head no.

"Right. After I put the memory in, I'll go first and you can follow. When the memory is over, take my hand and I'll bring you out so you don't get stuck in the memory," she explained. "Any questions?"

"How do know when the memory is finished?"

"It gets dark and begins to fade out. Don't worry, you'll know." She held her hand out and said, "Number one, please."

After pouring the silver memory into the Pensieve, Hermione placed her head in the water-like substance and let herself fall into the memory. A moment later she was joined by Malfoy, who was looking around suspiciously.

"This isn't exactly what I expected," he explained when Hermione gave a questioning look.

She was about to respond when it began.

They found themselves in the sitting room of a very small house. There was a low fire burning, giving the ratty furniture a more polished appearance. There was a soft knock at the door, but their attention was on who arrived to answer it. Peter Pettigrew, looking more like a rat than ever, opened the door. A moment later Snape arrived and allowed Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange to enter what Hermione assumed was his home.

She was surprised, and she looked at Malfoy to see what his reaction to the scene was. He looked heartbroken. Hermione couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd seen his mother. The scene in front if her totally forgotten, Hermione was watching Malfoy instead.

His face was completely blank, but his eyes were expressing every single thing he was feeling. Hermione remembered that day in Diagon Alley before sixth year when Malfoy had been so quick to defend his mother against Harry and Ron. It was no secret that he loved his mother very much. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like, not being able to see her for so long.

Snape's slightly nasal voice broke through her thoughts.  
"You can be the witness," Snape said looking straight in to Lestrange's eyes. She hid her surprise poorly. Hermione didn't know what was going on, but the tension in the room and the pained expression on Narcissa's face suggested that it was terribly serious.

Then Snape took Narcissa's hand in his own and threw a very smug glance at Lestrange. Narcissa ignored her sister, giving Snape all of her attention.

"Severus Snape, do you swear the Unbreakable Vow to protect my son, Draco Malfoy and to help him complete his mission, even if it means your own life?"

"I do," Snape answered solemnly.

Lestrange incanted something that Hermione didn't quite catch, but a tendril of magic came out of her wand and wrapped itself around the joined hands before disappearing. Then the memory began to fade, so she grasped Malfoy's hand and gently brought them back to the tiny bedroom.

"Did you know?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Yeah, I did."

"You don't have-"

"No, let's just get this over with."

The next memory began in a large field. In the distance, Hermione could see a pillar of black smoke rising toward the otherwise cloudless sky. The sun was just coming over the horizon giving the scene a cheery feel.

A soft _pop_ just to their left drew their attention as Snape Apparated just a few feet away. He began walking swiftly towards the smoke, his robes damp with dew sticking to his ankles. Hermione rushed to catch up, and heard Malfoy do the same behind her.

As they walked she took in Snape's appearance. He looked different, he looked younger, less worn. His mouth was set in a grim line and his intense black eyes were continuously scanning the area, looking for some hidden danger. She also noticed that his wand was grasped tightly in his hand as if he were expecting someone to jump out and attack him at any moment.

Within moments, they reached the source of the smoke. As Snape approached the smoldering ruins of what had been a very large house, he slowed his pace, each step more cautious than the last. Hermione had been so focused on what Snape was doing, that she didn't notice the small boy standing in the middle of the rubble boldly watching as Snape made his way closer.

"Are you one of them?" the boy asked. He couldn't have been older than ten, but his voice was eerily deep. Perhaps it was the thick Scottish accent.

Hermione studied the boy carefully. He wasn't tall, and had a mop of curly black hair atop his head. His skin was deeply tanned with high, strong cheek bones and a short, sharp nose. However, his most stunning feature by far were his eyes. She couldn't ever remember seeing eyes such a deep blue before. They looked like sapphires gleaming in the morning sun. There was something about those stunning eyes that made Hermione's insides squirm. Even though she wasn't present, she felt like he was peering into her soul. His eyes _saw._

"I did not come to hurt you," she heard Snape respond. "That is all you need to know." He held his head high, daring the boy to doubt him.

The youth stared blankly at Snape for a moment before walking forward and taking his hand. "I'm ready to leave now."

After Snape Disapparated with the boy, Hermione felt Malfoy wrap his hand around hers and they left.

Number three, the one that had been sent to Lupin helped answer a lot of questions. They found themselves standing in Dumbledore's office watching Snape converse with their former Headmaster. Hermione sense Draco's body tense next to hers at the sight of the old wizard.

Harry had told her what happened on top of the Astronomy Tower that night, so she understood Malfoy's reaction. She had a feeling that he had never wanted to kill Dumbledore, but if he had, then he would be in a totally different position right now. He had been stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"…If something happens to me, I want you to take measures to ensure that he does not fail. He must destroy them all. I have done all that I can, but I fear that it won't be enough," Dumbledore was saying. His blue eye didn't have the same twinkle Hermione remembered.

"I understand, but I also have obligations to Draco, as you know," Snape explained. "I have a friend, one whom I trust implicitly. I would like your permission to ask him for help in this matter. As you know, Albus, it is quite impossible for me to be in four places at once. He can be my eyes and ears as far as Potter is concerned, leaving me to handle the rest."

Hermione felt her eyes widen in shock, and she looked over at Malfoy whose expression mirrored her own. It was mind boggling to think that Dumbledore had not only asked him to look after Harry, but it seemed he also knew that Snape had sworn an Unbreakable Vow to protect Malfoy.

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore replied. "I trust your judgment. Any man who had earned your trust most certainly has mine. Now, go get some rest Severus. It's been a long night."

Once back in their bedroom, Hermione and Malfoy stared at each other in disbelief for a moment.

"Did you-"

"Had Snape-"

"No," they answered simultaneously.

"Well, that gave us more questions than answers," Hermione said, annoyed.

Malfoy looked like he was going to ask something, but thought better of it. She had a pretty good idea what the question was, too.

"Number four, please," she asked sweetly, removing his opportunity to interrogate her.

The instant they arrived, Hermione was almost overwhelmed by the sick feeling in her stomach. She had been here before. She came here almost every time she closed her eyes. The only difference was she was watching the scene from about thirty feet up in a tree and not participating in it. She had just noticed a large black hawk perched on the other side of Malfoy when she heard an all too familiar explosion followed by Ron's voice shouting for her to hurry up.

Impulsively she gripped his hand and brought them out of the cemetery before he saw anymore. She wasn't sure why exactly she didn't want him to know what happened that night, but the need to keep it from him was overpowering. Maybe she just wasn't ready.

"What the hell, Granger?" Malfoy snapped irritably when they landed back on the floor.

"I know what happens. We didn't need to watch it," Hermione offered lamely. She desperately hoped that he wouldn't push the issue.

"You've got some explaining to do," he stated firmly.

"Fine, but not tonight. Right now it's not important."

Without another word he handed her number five.

This time, they appeared in a small copse of trees. It was well after sunset, but the sky was illuminated by a silver half moon. The area around them was pretty much clear of obstruction, so both of them noticed the large black hawk soaring towards them Snape was standing in the shadow of a large maple, but the bird's keen vision easily picked him out as he landed softly on the ground in front of Snape.

A shimmer came over the animal and a moment later there was a man standing there. Hermione couldn't see his face in the shadow of the tree, but she recognized his voice immediately. It was low and intense, the Scottish accent a dead giveaway. The man before them was the boy from the second memory.

"Let's make this quick, I've got other things to take care of tonight," the anonymous man with cobalt eyes said with the faintest hint of impatience.

"Very well," was Snape's simple reply.

The two men walked in a comfortable silence while Hermione and Malfoy struggled to keep up. The stranger set a much quicker pace than Snape, if that was possible. She was getting tired and she imagined that Malfoy was too. He had been in bed for the past three days, and had yet to recover his full strength. Thankfully there were only two more after this one.

Suddenly, they came to a halt inside another lone group of trees in front of a great castle. Hermione's lungs stopped working momentarily when she set her eyes upon it. It was Tullynally, the very same castle she had read about that evening. The one that once belonged to Simeon Slytherin.

"It's the only Wizarding castle left standing in Ireland," the Scott stated. "And that's only because Slytherin put all of those charms on it before they chucked him in Azkaban."

His voice was the most amazing thing Hermione's ears had ever had the pleasure of listening too. It was smooth and compelling. It demanded attention. She was sure that it could even tame a Hungarian Horntail.

"Are the legends true as well?" Snape asked. His voice sounded like sandpaper in comparison.

"I went in last week, as a tourist. Didn't see anything to suggest that they're still hanging around, but that doesn't mean anything. If they're here, then they probably wouldn't show themselves until Potter takes it anyways."

Realization dawned on Hermione at that moment. They were talking about a Horcrux. They were talking about the wand of Rowena Ravenclaw in particular. The memory of Dumbledore asking Snape to help Harry was so that if Harry ever saw the memories, he would believe that it was what Dumbledore had wanted. The fourth memory had been the night Hermione was injured in Ipswich. It proved that Snape, and his anonymous friend, could actually be helpful. They had known about Ipswich, why not Tullynally and the last next one as well?

"How long do you think it will take them to make it here?" Snape asked his companion.

"Longer than we'd like," he replied. "The idiots left the girl at Grimmauld Place."

"Potter never was the quickest of cats." Snape made no effort to hide his disdain for Harry.

"C'est la vie. I'll let you know when they figure it out." Without waiting for a reply, the Animagus became a hawk and flew off into the night.

"I hope this is making sense to you," Malfoy said sourly as they landed on the floor once again. "Because it sure as hell isn't making any to me."

Hermione was too busy trying to absorb all of the information she'd just received to respond. Some of her questions were answered, but there were still twice as many queued up, waiting for her attention.

"Granger," he said, impatiently trying to get her attention.

"What? Yeah, it is, actually."

Unfortunately for Malfoy, he wasn't going to get an explanation. It wasn't her secret to tell. She could just imagine how Harry would react if she told Malfoy all about their little save-the-world mission. Enraged wouldn't even begin to cover it.

"Where's the next one?"

Whatever city the two found themselves in it was high noon and although they couldn't feel the heat, they could see the waves coming off of the old cobblestones. The part of town they were in was old and rustic, but in the distance Hermione could make out a modern skyline. She began searching for Snape; she didn't want to miss anything.

Finally she found him about thirty meters down the narrow road, and she wouldn't have recognized him if it weren't for his lank black hair and shining white skin. He was wearing Muggle clothes, nothing elaborate, just black slacks and a black button-down, but the effect was quite complete. Anyone who wasn't looking for him wouldn't have noticed him at all.

They jogged to catch up with him as he crossed the street, which was strangely deserted. He was making a bee-line for a small store with a sign overhead that read _Zapatos_.

Once in side he went to the counter where there was a very old woman sitting on a stool knitting near the register. The store was obviously a shoe store, as the walls were covered floor to ceiling with shoes of all types.

The old woman looked up at Snape and Hermione saw that she only had one eye and wore a patch over the other. She also only had about a dozen teeth in her head. This didn't seem to faze Snape in the least.

"¿Cómo puedo ayudarle?" she croaked out in what Hermione thought was Spanish.

"The newspaper said you were selling boots for fifty percent off," he replied in English.

"Only for angel's feet," she said in perfect English.

_It must be some type of code,_ Hermione thought.

Snape leaned forward and lowered his voice so that only she could hear. "He'll be coming for it. I don't know when, but he will come."

She raised one ragged eyebrow, the one over her patch. "The Dark Lord?"

"No, you hag, Potter. And when he does, you will help him." His voice had taken on a threatening tone, which the old woman did not fail to notice.

"You do not know what you ask, Severus," she replied. She was beginning to sound afraid. Hermione wondered briefly what it was Snape had over her that would cause her to defy Voldemort for Harry.

"Trust me, Fea, no on understands the implications of our actions better than I," he retorted. Snape then spun on his heel and strode from the store. If he'd had robes on, they would have swirled about his ankles as usual.

This last memory left Hermione as confused as Malfoy. She was pretty sure that Snape and the woman, Fea, had been talking about Harry coming for the last Horcrux, but the whole conversation had been so cryptic, she couldn't be sure. Horcrux or no, the woman's potential role in Harry's search left her feeling a little uneasy. How was Hermione going to explain that a very untrustworthy looking hag was supposed to (maybe) lead them to the Horcrux? Harry and Ron were not the most trusting of people anymore. They had been used too many times.

"Well, that was the most frustrating three hours of my life," Malfoy commented snidely.

"You're the one who insisted on watching them with me," Hermione snapped. She had a horrendous headache and really didn't feel like bickering.

Hermione remained seated on the floor, even though Malfoy moved into a chair. She had too much on her mind. One by one, she began drawing the memories out of the Pensieve with her wand and putting them back into their respective phials. Then she began packing up the Pensieve itself so she could bring it back to Harry's room. The entire time she could feel Malfoy's steely gaze boring holes into her back.

"Are you going to explain any of this?"

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

"Well, parts of it I can't tell you, parts of it I don't want to tell you and I simply haven't figured the rest out yet."

"Why-" he began, but Hermione interrupted him.

"It's late, Malfoy, and I have an extremely busy day tomorrow. I promise I will tell you what I can, but not now. My brain needs a break and you need to get some rest."

He started to protest again, but Hermione held up a hand. "Please."

_Merlin, am I tired._

Without another word, Hermione left, Pensieve in tow. When she returned, Malfoy was sound asleep in his bed.

_If only I could be so lucky…_

* * *

A/N: 1) I am really, really sorry if this chapter is terrible. I'm leaving for Maine in the morning, and I wanted to get this posted before I left. So, please if there are any horrible mistakes, or you were confused about something, please feel free to let me know about it. I'll fix it as soon as I can.

2) I'm going to be gone for about a week, but I'll be writing while I'm there so chapter 6 shouldn't be that late.

3) For all you folks who live in Ireland, I do know that Tullynally castle is still inhabited by the Pakenham family. I wanted to use the castle in my fic, so I made up that little history. If anyone wants to know the truth, go here: finally I want to thank my friends Allison and Lanie for their support, and especially DubheSigrid for her invaluable wisdom and wonderful critiques. The first half of this chapter would suck royally if I hadn't asked her for help. THANK YOU


	6. Allegiances

**Allegiances**

September 18, Thursday

Narcissa stood on the hill overlooking the Shrieking Shack confident in her decision, but nervous all the same. _What if they don't want my help? What if they don't believe me?_ The questions were endless.

Up on the hill the wind was blustery, causing her cloak and robes to toss about much like the now bare tree branches of her hiding place. The early morning was cold; the frosted ground was shimmering in the sunlight. Narcissa could feel her cheeks and nose redden in the frigid air. Another lock of chestnut hair escaped her hood and whipped her face before Narcissa tucked it securely behind her ear.

She always glamoured her hair now when she went out in public. She did not know if Lucius was searching for her, but her striking blonde hair immediately identified her. It would have been foolish not to alter her appearance. Especially considering this morning she would be striking a deal with the Order of the Phoenix.

Narcissa pushed back the chocolate brown sleeve of her robes to check the time before allowing the heavy brocade to slip back over the tiny gold face of her watch. It was five 'til seven; she had five minutes to walk down the hill to her rendezvous.

The frozen grass crunched beneath her boots, disturbing the stillness. For the hundredth time since she'd sent her message to Minerva McGonagall, Narcissa contemplated anxiously what she would say when she stepped through the door that was steadily growing ahead. She had already decided that she would answer any questions they asked, but she still wasn't sure how she was going to convince them that she was genuine. _If they show up, _she thought. No one had entered the building during the thirty minutes she'd spent surveying the premises.

Finally, and too soon at the same time, Narcissa reached the dilapidated house. Taking a deep breath she grasped the icy brass knob in her delicate hand and opened the creaking door.

Even though the sun had fully risen, the golden light did little to penetrate the gloom that now surrounded her. She knew the rumors that it was haunted were ridiculous (they hadn't even begun until her fifth year at Hogwarts), but she still had to fight the urge to draw her wand. The last thing she needed was to come upon McGonagall ready to curse, no matter how exposed she felt.

After a quick search found the ground level deserted, Narcissa picked up the hem of her robes and began walking carefully up the rotting stairs. When she reached the top of the flight she breathed a sigh of relief. Not only had she made it up the rickety stairs alive and whole, but she heard three distinct voices speaking softly from behind a door at the end of the hallway. They had come after all.

She walked evenly down the hall, head held high with her Malfoy façade in place. She needed to maintain some form of control. She was offering her services, but she needed to insure that she got what she wanted in return. The voices stilled as Narcissa reached the door, but she didn't hesitate to push it open. They knew she was in the hall; it wouldn't do to appear indecisive.

The room she stepped into was less gloomy than they rest of the house. The windows had been scrubbed free of their grime and a cheery fire crackled in the hearth. An old bed in the corner of the room identified it as a bedroom, but the rest of the furniture was broken and scattered.

The middle of the room was the only space free of debris. Instead there were three chairs, two of which were occupied by Minerva McGonagall and Remus Lupin. The owner of the third voice was leaning rigidly against one of the three windows looking rather impatient. The first thing Narcissa noticed about the man was the electric blue eye strapped onto his head. It spun around wildly for a moment before staring straight at her. Narcissa's insides were squirming under the hard man's intense scrutiny, but she did not show her discomfort.

"It's about damn time you made it up here," the man said gruffly. Before she could respond, he turned to the other two, who had both set down their teacups to watch Narcissa.

"Do you need me for anything else, Minerva, or can I go? I've got work to do today."

"No, Alastor, that's all. Thank you for joining us," McGonagall replied. Her voice was almost shrill compared to Alastor's. Narcissa could only assume it was "Mad-Eye Moody who was watching her so suspiciously. The man was notoriously paranoid.

Without another word, he Disapparated with a loud _crack_. Narcissa would have been lying if she said his absence was not preferred to his company.

She turned her attention towards McGonagall and Lupin, who were rising from their chairs in greeting. She met each of their gazes in turn, trying to read their reactions to her presence as well as her appearance.

"Thank you for meeting me," she said. "Frankly, I didn't think you'd come."

"Please, sit," Lupin said as he poured a cup of tea for her.

As the three sat, McGonagall spoke up. "I must admit, we were both shocked to receive your letter. That's why I asked Alastor to join us."

Narcissa nodded her head slightly; she had not expected them to trust her. She was still a Malfoy. As long as she bore Lucius' name, she also carried the stigma that was attached to it.

The trio sat tensely in silence, none of them sure how to begin. Narcissa took the plunge. "I've left Lucius," she said bluntly. It wasn't the ideal place to begin, but it was something. McGonagall and Lupin raised their eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing. They were waiting for her to continue.

"It's time for me to do my part to end this war. I understand you're lacking a spy at the moment."

"Well that was certainly not what we were expecting," Lupin said glancing back and forth between Narcissa and McGonagall. "You are actually offering to spy for the Order?" It was obvious the werewolf didn't believe her.

"Why?" McGonagall asked firmly. She was clearly doubting as well.

"There are many why's to be answered, Headmistress," replied Narcissa. "Pick one."

McGonagall frowned at the snippy response, but said nothing about it. "Why have you left your husband, Mrs. Malfoy?" She noticed the old witch's gaze drop to her neck for just an instant.

Narcissa couldn't help but smirk. "Because, Headmistress, seventeen years of abuse can only end one of two ways. I've simply chosen the path which might spare my life."

"You want to betray Voldemort to get back at Lucius?" Lupin asked incredulously.

"Hardly," Narcissa responded. "I'm willing to betray everything I know to save my son," she said resolutely. "This war will be the end of him if something is not done to turn the tables."

Narcissa watched the Order members, trying to read them. Lupin appeared distrustful, but pensive. Perhaps he was considering her offer after all. McGonagall, too, appeared thoughtful, but definitely more curious than wary. The two complemented each other well.

"When was the last time you spoke with your son?" the old witch asked.

"I haven't seen or spoken with my son since Christmas holiday, his sixth year at school." Narcissa's voice was even, but it still made her heart clench with sadness. No mother should be forced apart from her child for so long.

"Then it should be a relief to know," McGonagall began, "that Draco is as safe as he can possibly be at the moment."

Narcissa choked on her tea, most ungracefully. "Beg your pardon?" Even though her attention was on McGonagall, she saw a look of disbelief cross Lupin's face out of the corner of her eye. Either he didn't know, or McGonagall wasn't supposed to tell. More than likely, it was the latter.

"You know where Draco is?" She couldn't stop the flutter of hope in her heart. "How?"

Lupin glanced disapprovingly at the old witch, but she answered anyways.

"He has been under our protection for several days now."

"I don't understand," Narcissa mumbled in disbelief. The Order (and the Ministry, for that matter) had been searching for Draco as well as the Dark Lord. They held him as responsible as Severus for the death of Albus Dumbledore.

_Severus._

The thought hit her like a hard slap to the face. If the Order had Draco, what had become of him? The past three days had been such a flurry of activity; she'd hardly spared a thought for him. Narcissa fought the sick sensation of guilt that began trickling into her stomach. Had something happened?

She had about a hundred questions she wanted to ask; she hardly knew where to begin. Most of them concerned Draco, but she was worried about Severus as well. Because of their shared commitment to Draco's safety, Narcissa and Severus had formed what could almost be considered a friendship. As much of one as their circumstances allowed, anyways.

"Is he well?" she finally asked.

"He's alive," Lupin replied. There was a hard edge in his voice that Narcissa had not expected. Perhaps he was even less pleased with his colleague's lack of reserve than she'd realized.

"And lucky for it, too," he continued grimly. "Apparently he was no longer breathing by the time he made his way to us."

Narcissa felt the blood drain from her face.

"What happened?" she asked softly, not altogether sure she wanted to know the answer.

"Greyback happened," the werewolf spit out vehemently. Narcissa remembered that it was Greyback that had turned Remus Lupin. No wonder he was being so hostile.

However, the bit of information was so upsetting; Narcissa thought she was going to be ill. Even though she'd warned Severus, the terrible creature had found Draco anyways. It had almost cost him his life.

_Almost._

The thought brought her minimal comfort; neither McGonagall nor Lupin had mentioned Severus. She was now more concerned for the taciturn Potions Master than before. If Draco had been so badly injured, what had become of Severus? Why hadn't he contacted her yet?

Needing to do something, Narcissa rose and walked the short distance to the same window Mad-Eye had been leaning against when she arrived. The window had a clear view of the same copse of trees she'd been hiding in less than an hour ago. She briefly wondered if Moody had been watching her the entire time. It wouldn't have surprised her in the least.

Behind her, Narcissa could feel two sets of eyes watching her every move. They were waiting for her to speak.

"And Severus?"

"He didn't make it," McGonagall answered. Her voice sounded strangely detached.

Narcissa felt the guilt rush in again, but she threw up the flood gates before it overwhelmed her. Suddenly, she desperately wanted to be alone in her flat with only her thoughts for company. However, they had yet to accept or decline her offer. She wasn't about to leave with this discussion unresolved. She could to grieve later.

"Let me do this," Narcissa said, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. She wanted, no _needed_ this more than she realized. The silence that followed her plea was so thick they could have swum through it.

Narcissa caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass and noticed she'd forgotten to cover up one of the remaining reminders of that happened to her just a few days ago. Wrapped around her neck was an ugly hand-shaped bruise. The obvious sign of abuse had been all the evidence McGonagall had needed. Lupin, however, was still unconvinced.

"How can we be sure of your allegiance?" Lupin asked, voicing his concerns. "You and Lucius were among the first to swear fealty to Voldemort, why should we trust this sudden change of heart?"

"Because, Mr. Lupin," Narcissa began as she turned away from her reflection, "for the first time in my life, I _know_ I'm doing the right thing." She had never been surer of anything.

"You don't need to accept my offer," she said, mustering every ounce of confidence and determination she possessed. "I'll do whatever is necessary, regardless. I just won't be as effective without your support."

Much to Narcissa's delight, Lupin tore his mistrustful gaze from her own, only to catch McGonagall's. She watched the silent intercourse with bated breath. Could she dare to hope?

After several moments that seemed like an eternity Lupin broke the tense silence.

"What is it you want in return, Mrs. Malfoy?" His voice had lost its hard edge, but the werewolf was still all business.

"If the ministry sees fit to arrest either me or my son when this is over, I only ask that you speak on our behalf."

Again, the Order members exchanged glances full of unspoken words.

"I think those are acceptable terms, don't you Remus?"

"Indeed," he replied grudgingly. It would seem their need for inside information outweighed his reservations.

"If you would work out the particulars, Minerva," he said, rising. "I'll just have a word with our Secret Keeper." Seconds later, Remus Lupin vanished in a burst of green flame.

Despite her dire and deadly situation, Narcissa couldn't help the overwhelming (and most welcome) feeling of hope that now embraced her like a blanket. She was one step closer to ending the war- and ensuring Draco's long life.

* * *

Hermione couldn't stop the roar of frustration that erupted from her throat. She was too busy fighting the impulse to chuck the biggest book she could get her hands on at Malfoy's head. He had woken up twenty minutes ago and had immediately begun badgering her about Snape's memories. His self-important attitude coupled with a completely sleepless night on her part was most definitely a recipe for disaster.

The stony expression on Malfoy's face did little to hide the fact that he was just as frustrated with Hermione as she was with him. His flashing quicksilver eyes gave him away. He was really making her regret her benevolence.

He was apparently under the impression that he was in a position to boss people around. Gone was the halfway decent, mildly companionable Malfoy of yesterday. The ferret had returned with a vengeance.

"You think that just because your a bloody Malfoy, you're entitled. I hate to break it to you, but your name doesn't mean shite here," Hermione ground out through clenched teeth.

He was standing between the foot of his bed and the dresser with his arms folded across his chest. Hermione felt her blood boil at the smug look now plastered across his face.

"What I am or am not entitled to is beside the point, Granger," he began, fixing his pewter gaze on Hermione. "You promised an explanation. Far be it from me to hold you to your word."

Hermione resented the insinuation that she was a liar. What was that Muggle saying? Pot calling the kettle black? She wanted to smack the self-satisfied smirk right off his face and into next year.

"That's rich," she retorted. Her voice was dripping with contempt.

_How could I have been so nice to him yesterday?_

"Draco Malfoy calling someone a liar. Priceless.

"To begin with," she continued before he could interrupt, "I never _promised_ you anything. I said I'd explain what I could, and honestly, I don't know what that includes at the moment. Not that you deserve it anyways," she added hotly.

"Not to mention the fact that there are things I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. Unlike you, I have obligations and responsibilities to people I love. People that expect me not to betray their confidences to the likes of you," she spat.

Much to Hermione's satisfaction, her tirade seemed to knock Malfoy down a notch or two. He now had his arms at his side; his fists clenching and unclenching in an effort to maintain some self control.

"You're pathetic, Granger," he said, his face twisting into a sneer. He continued, closing the gap between them all the while.

_Six feet._

"I'm pathetic?" she said incredulously.

He ignored her.

_Five feet_.

"These 'people' you're protecting left you here to rot. Potter's off playing hero. Weasley, the bumbling sidekick, is along for the ride, but here you are. They _abandoned_ you, and you're still keeping their secrets. Now _that's_ rich.

_Three feet_.

Hermione simply did not know how to respond. To her everlasting shame, she had thought those exact same thoughts a hundred times. Only this time, she was hearing it from Malfoy, not the little voice in her head.

_Is everything really so transparent?_

Hermione boldly took two steps forward leaving less than a foot between their bodies. The proximity forced her to look up to meet his gaze, but she did not falter. Finally she found her tongue.

"Perhaps I know the value of doing something for someone other than myself. You've never done a selfless act in your life, Malfoy."

"Or perhaps," he whispered smoothly, "you're just a useless little Mudblood after all."

She could resist no longer. With all the force she could muster, Hermione reached up to smack him in the face – with her left hand. If Moody had taught her anything, it was to ensure she always had access to her wand.

Instead of hearing the satisfying _smack_ of her hand on his face, Hermione found her wrist in the vice-like grip of Malfoy's long-fingered hand. He'd caught it mid-swing and was looking supremely pleased with himself. Unfortunately for him, Hermione had anticipated this.

She smiled brilliantly which caught him off guard, causing his grip to slacken ever so slightly. She was really going to enjoy this.

In one fell swoop, Hermione twisted in his grasp, ducking under his arm; his wrist now in her hand. Using her own momentum, she rotated his arm causing him to flip. He landed hard on the wood floor with an _uff_; the impact knocking the wind out of him. Before Malfoy could recover, Hermione rolled him over onto his stomach with a booted foot. She knelt down on one knee, placing it squarely between his shoulder blades, pinning him. His arm was behind him at an unforgiving angle; Hermione gave it a sharp twist, just to ensure she had his undivided attention.

Leaning forward so that her lips brushed teasingly against the shell of his ear, "I hear it again, you'll wish I hadn't," she whispered threateningly. "Don't think for one moment that I'm going to let you abuse me like when we were in school."

"Hermione," a shocked voice said from the door way.

She picked her head up to see Professor Lupin looking both surprised and mildly amused at the same time. She hadn't even heard the door open.

Malfoy attempted to take advantage of the distraction by trying to dislodge Hermione from his back. Hermione only put more pressure on his back, making it more difficult for him to move. She was suddenly _very_ glad that Moody had spent so much time teaching her how to defend herself without a wand.

"Fuck, Granger, get off me!"

"Professor," Hermione greeted brightly as if he hadn't just walked in on her accosting the man she was supposed to be caring for. "I was just coming to find you."

"A word, please," he said, inclining his head towards the hallway. "Business."

"Of course."

Hermione removed herself from Malfoy's back and quickly stepped out of reach. Once in the hall, she closed the door softly and cast a Silencing Charm, just incase Malfoy decided to try his hand at eavesdropping. Professor Lupin still looked as though he found something extremely entertaining.

"I was provoked," Hermione said defensively.

"I'm sure," he replied, not bothering to hide his smile. "But that's not what I need to speak with you about. I need the Secret, in letter form, addressed to Narcissa Malfoy."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed in shock.

"I had a similar reaction, though I do think I contained my surprise a bit better than you." He was still smiling; it made him look younger, less tired.

Hermione felt a smile tugging at her lips as well. Hermione didn't know what put him in such a good mood, but she was grateful for it. She couldn't help but imagine what he had been like during his Hogwarts' years. How often did he smile then?

"May I ask how this came about, Professor?"

Professor Lupin grew pensive; he was debating whether or not to confide in her. Hermione crossed her fingers. She hated being kept in the dark. It was one reason she was so mad at Harry and Ron. They never told her anything more than their location and direction.

"She offered to spy for us," he said simply. Hermione was sure her jaw was on the floor. He put his hand up to stall her next question. "That's all I will say, for now. And I would appreciate you not mentioning this to Draco; I am planning on informing him this evening."

"Why would I tell Malfoy?" she asked indignantly. "He'd be lucky if I told him what day it was."

Lupin quirked an eyebrow curiously, but the little smile never completely faded from his face. "You said you were coming to find me."

"Right," Hermione said as she began walking towards the library. She beckoned Lupin to follow. "I watched the memories last night."

"Was there anything useful?"

"Not useful, per se, but definitely interesting." Hermione answered as she closed the door behind them. "First of all, Narcissa asked Snape to swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect Malfoy. Bellatrix Lestrange witnessed and performed the spell."

"Well, that explains one thing," Lupin interrupted. "Narcissa asked what happened to Snape, and seemed most distraught when Minerva told her he'd died. She also called him Severus, now that I think about it."

Hermione sat at her usual table and began searching for a slip of parchment on which to compose her letter. She scribbled down the words quickly, still marveling at the situation. This was a twist few would see coming; half of the Order would think it was a joke. Folding the letter and sealing it, Hermione handed it to Lupin.

"The memory Snape sent you was very interesting. It was a conversation between Dumbledore and himself. Professor, Dumbledore knew about the Vow. I think that's why he wrote the letter to Malfoy before he died."

"It would make sense," Lupin replied thoughtfully. "Did they talk about anything else?"

"Yes. Dumbledore asked Snape to look after Harry after he died." Hermione pointedly left out Snape's anonymous Scottish friend. She wanted to figure out what she thought about him before she told anyone else. In fact, she didn't even plan on telling Harry, even though he had been tailing him for some time.

Hermione thought Lupin would be shocked by the information, but he wasn't. He looked confused. After what happened on the Astronomy Tower, it was difficult to make heads or tails of Snape's actions. Whose side was he _really_ on?

"Hm, that's interesting," he said. "Tell Draco Poppy and I will be here at five to speak with him."

Hermione nodded once. She was a little surprised that he had not had more to say about Dumbledore's request to Snape. Professor Lupin stopped and turned at the door.

"And Hermione," he began, the smile returning once more. "Try not to assault him when you do it."

* * *

Hermione decided to wait until lunch to speak to Malfoy again. She was still furious with him, and she doubted he'd be happy to see her any time this decade. She laughed out loud when she remembered wishing, just yesterday, that he would wake up and start acting like the git she knew he was.

_Be careful what you wish for…_

She had not slept last night – not a wink. She hadn't even changed out of yesterday's clothes. In a strange sort of way Hermione was grateful that Malfoy had picked a fight so early in the morning. Moody and Tonks would be there in less than an hour, and Malfoy had riled her up just enough to ensure she had the energy to make it to lunch.

Hermione had spent the entire night awake, reliving Snape's memories over and over again, trying to decipher any hidden meaning. She hadn't come up with much. Mostly she was intrigued by the anonymous man with the thick Scottish accent. There was something about him that drew Hermione; she wanted to know everything about him. Alas, those thoughts would have to be put aside until later – she had a busy day ahead of her.

After taking another hasty, freezing cold shower Hermione dressed in record time. She chose the most comfortable clothes she owned: a pair of very old, loose-fitting jeans with the knees missing, a plain white t-shirt and white trainers. Throwing her hair up in a pony, she trotted downstairs to eat a quick breakfast and wait for her teachers to arrive.

Just as Hermione was finishing her second cup of tea, Moody arrived in a burst of green flame. Tonks followed a moment later. She stumbled, but caught herself before she caused any damage. Hermione had also remembered to remove the kettle from in front of the fireplace after pouring her latest cup of tea. Just in case.

"Well, what are you still sitting there for?" Moody said gruffly.

"Good morning, Mad-Eye," Hermione greeted. She was accustomed to the old Auror's rough demeanor. "Tonks."

"Wotcher, Hermione."

The glaring differences between the two partners was almost comical. Moody was harshly succinct - to the point of being rude even. He was all business, all the time, and he most certainly did not care what anyone thought of him. He trusted no one (except Tonks, maybe). Tonks, on the other hand, stood before Hermione in grape colored robes, with hair to match and a brilliant smile. She was easy going, clumsy, and had a fabulous sense of humor. She trusted people, but she also trusted her instincts. Hermione loved working with the two Aurors. They had so much to teach her and she was more than willing to learn.

Without another word, Moody limped out of the kitchen. Hermione put her mug in the sink and followed Tonks out into the hall. Waiting until Mad-Eye was a good distance ahead, Tonks linked her arm in Hermione's while they made their way up to the attic.

"So," she whispered conspiratorially, "how's my fair cousin this morning?"

"Fair my arse," Hermione snorted. "He's lucky I haven't strangled him yet. Insufferable git."

Tonks unsuccessfully tried to suppress a giggle. An uncomfortable feeling which made her skin crawl washed over Hermione; Moody was watching them with his magical eye. "What happened, Hermione? You were so full of sympathy yesterday."

"You'll have to ask him. I'm sure he'd enjoy telling you far more than I ever could."

Hermione had to suppress a giggle of her own. She had a mental image of Malfoy's reaction when his cousin asked what happened that morning. Too bad she wouldn't be there to see the live version.

Moments later, Hermione was climbing the last, and very narrow, flight of stairs that lead to the attic door. The attic, once it had been cleaned out, was the perfect place to train. It was one giant room, the entire length and width of the house. They'd covered the splintery wood floor with rubber mats, and the walls were lightly cushioned to prevent any unnecessary or accidental injuries. The goal was for Hermione to learn how to take care of herself, not get beaten up.

In actuality, the program Moody had been running for the past three months was very similar to that of first year Auror training. He'd altered it so that Hermione learned what he deemed most important first, but it was essentially the same. If it was a career she wanted to pursue, she would already have a good head start.

"We're going to work on hand-to-hand until lunch, then you'll begin basic wandless," Mad-Eye said as he closed the door behind them.

Hermione only nodded as Tonks began taking off her robes. Underneath, she wore much the same thing as Hermione – jeans and a t-shirt (black, not white), and boots instead of trainers. Tonks was her sparring partner. Robes made it slightly more difficult than necessary, so she usually took them off.

The next three hours were spent doing exactly what Moody had said. Hermione had been working at it for a month now, and, as Malfoy learned that morning, she was quite good. She and Tonks gave each other quite the work-out. Hermione never would have dreamed that she would enjoy the art of physical combat like she did. It made her feel like a secret agent working for MI6 in one of the many Muggle movies she'd watched with her parents.

Moody had included a little bit of everything into the regimen – a little kick boxing, a little martial arts, some disarming techniques, as well as how to "size up" an opponent. Tonks was the perfect partner for this, as she could alter her size and appearance. Each "opponent" and scenario tested the many different skills and strengths Hermione had worked so hard to hone. Malfoy hadn't stood a chance.

Finally, after a brutal morning, lunchtime finally arrived. As usual, the trio retired to the kitchen where Hermione would heat up the left-overs. She realized, with a pang of guilt, that she had not brought Malfoy breakfast; he must be starving. Her self-induced guilt trip was short lived, however, when she remembered exactly why she hadn't bothered to feed him. She really didn't feel like looking at him just yet. Fortunately, Tonks spared her by offering to take him his lunch. Hermione agreed and asked Tonks to tell him that Lupin would arrive at five to talk to him.

"I want to know what happened this morning, anyways," she said with a wink as she backed out of the kitchen clutching the tray tightly.

Hermione and Moody ate their beef stew in silence, for about five minutes. The quiet was broken by the slamming of a door followed by Mrs. Black screaming for the second time in as many days. Even through the closed door the portrait's shrill voice was piercing. They heard Tonks' heavy boots clomp clumsily down the stairs just before she burst into the room, laughing hysterically.

Moody's eye spun around once, then angled sharply upward. He completely ignored Tonks. Hermione only raised a brow at her friend's curious behavior.

"Well, he's in a right state," Mad-Eye said. Hermione could have sworn she'd heard a hint of amusement in the cantankerous Auror's voice.

"What happened?"

"You…you should have seen his face," Tonks finally finished between peals of laughter. "I thought his head was going to explode! His face turned red and he started swearing. Then he threw me out and slammed the door." Tonks leaned back in her chair and continued to laugh, though lightly now. "You _must _tell me what happened."

"Let's just say I put all this training to good use."

* * *

Wandless was _hard_. Moody said that the problem most witches and wizards have is that they can't summon the magic. That was most definitely not Hermione's problem. When she concentrated on it, the pure, wild magic ripped through her like a bolt of lightening. The sensation gave her a mental image of a cartoon fireman holding onto his gushing water hose for dear life as it whipped around, drenching everything in sight.

That's what her magic did. The first time Hermione summoned it, Tonks ended up in a heap clear across the room. After that, Moody had put up his strongest shields around them in a corner, well out of Hermione's way.

Moody was thrilled, but Hermione wasn't so sure. What good was something she couldn't control? It was dangerous and unpredictable. She couldn't understand why she needed to master it, and said as much.

"Because," she heard Moody's gravelly voice respond from his nook behind her. "You may not always have access to your wand. It could save your life."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Moody cut her off.

"Not everyone can do it, Granger. You should be grateful that you have another way to defend yourself, a very effective way."

Hermione spent what seemed like ages trying to cast simple spells without her wand, with outrageous results. After an hour of attempting to cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on a pillow in the middle of the room, the spell finally hit it. The pillow exploded, raining white feathers everywhere. _Reparo_ caused the feathers to burst into flame, and an _Aguamenti_ shot a stream of water straight across the room and through the window on the far wall. Hermione's arm had quite literally become the fire hose she'd imagined earlier. Tonks thought it was hysterical. Moody, on the other hand, had finally been impressed by someone under the age of one hundred and ten.

* * *

Fenrir Greyback could not remember a single time in his life when he had been more…_livid._ It had taken him some time to break through the locking charm Granger had placed on the door, and he hadn't wasted any time beginning his search. She had left his wand on the floor instead of taking it with her, which turned out to be the only good news Greyback recieved all day.

Once free of Snape's bedroom, he had immediately transformed. Granger and Lupin had Disapparated; hopefully he could still pick up their scent. It wasn't hard. The trail had diminished during the time it took to free his self, but because there were two scents mingling, it was just at distinct. Thrilled, he Disapparated, following the trail, only to be violently flung back onto the cabin floor.

_What the hell is this?_

Greyback howled in frustration, and tried again. The results were the same. Wherever the wench and the traitor had gotten off to, it was heavily warded. He spent the rest of the night, as well as the next day, searching for any sign of Malfoy, Granger, or Lupin, but he had nothing to go on. Lupin would probably make his way back to Hogwarts, but Greyback couldn't very well waltz onto castle grounds and knock on the door. It was obvious that Granger knew where Malfoy was, but he had no way of getting there. Not that he knew where 'there' was.

Defeated for the time being and looking for a fight, Greyback returned to his den at sunset. He had business to see to. That she-wolf had been in _his_ caves for four days, and he intended to put her in her place tonight. The last thing he needed was strife within the pack.

He strode furiously through the caves, but there was no sign of her. He did, however, notice Freddy. His back was turned to Fenrir, but there was no mistaking that accent. Freddy turned around just in time for Greyback to lift him up by his shirt and pin him against the rough rock wall.

"Where is she?" he snarled. His face was inches away from Freddy's; he could see the fine sheen of sweat break out on the man's face. Luckily for him, Freddy knew who he was referring to.

"F-f-fourth den, w-west tunnel, s-sir" he stuttered.

Weaving his way between bunks, cots, tables and benches, Greyback followed Freddy's instructions until he found who he was looking for. As he closed the distance between them, the throng of Frenchmen cleared a path before him. He was feeling murderous, and they could sense it.

Fenrir recognized her immediately despite the fact that he had never before laid eyes on her. She was striking: almost six feet tall, slender but not skinny, with wild-looking, close-cropped curly hair the color of coffee. It matched her skin perfectly. She was also the only person in the cave not moving away from him.

Instead, she stood confidently near the back, shrewdly observing his approach. Her posture was relaxed; she was leaning slightly to one side with her hands on her hips. She was most definitely _not_ afraid of him.

Rather than stop once he reached her, Greyback began menacingly circling his new adversary. She did not shrink away, but stood straighter and lifter her head defiantly into the air. Stopping in front of her, Fenrir stared directly into her eyes. Almond-shaped pools of liquid amber glared back at him. They were tilted slightly which gave her over-all appearance a feral quality.

"I don't know why you're here, woman," Greyback snarled, "but this is _my_ den, _my_ pack. Voldemort may want you here, but I don't."

"Ze people in zis country are so rude," she admonished. "Where I come from, eet iz only polite to introduce oneself before trying to intimidate someone." Her English was very good, but her accent was thick and exotic, and not entirely French either.

Greyback growled. His anger, which had never truly abated, began boiling over once more.

"Impudent wench!"

"My name is Sauda," she interrupted. "I am sure you were eenformed by your Lieutenant zat I wished to speak wiz you?"

Sauda began circling Greyback, in much the same manner as he had done to her just minutes earlier. She moved slowly, deliberately, gracefully, almost seductively. She had his undivided attention.

"You see, Greyback, zere are some zings I wish to make clear as well," she whispered in her deep, smooth voice. "Despite what you may have heard, I earned my rank; I will not allow you to treat me as anything less than the leader of my pack."

The men who had been so eager to get out of the way earlier were now crowding close, trying to hear what Sauda was saying. Greyback didn't know how many of them spoke English, but all were listening intently. In the background he was aware of Freddy's voice; it carried over the quiet chatter in the cave. When he realized what was in Greyback's head, he'd gathered a contingent of werewolves, just in case things got out of hand.

"I am no more eenterested een stealing your pack zan I am zis…war your Dark Lord iz waging. As soon as eet iz won, we will return home."

Sauda halted before Greyback, and met his furious gaze without hesitation. "Stay out of my way, and I will stay out of yours." Then she turned her back on him and walked away, blatantly reinforcing the fact that she was not afraid of him. As far a Greyback was concerned, a lack of fear meant a lack of respect.

Greyback howled in rage and tried to rush her, but something was blocking his way. The something turned out to be a someone. Freddy had finally made his way through the spectators, and was trying his hardest to restrain the enraged werewolf.

"Sir! Not 'ere!" Freddy shouted while he struggled against Greyback's bulky form. "Meet 'er on the battlefield, not 'ere!"

He had almost overpowered Freddy when Greyback felt four more hands grab him from behind. They were pulling him back, dragging him from the room before he did something stupid. Once outside of the cave occupied by Sauda, Greyback threw off the three men and stormed down the tunnel towards his own den, knocking down anyone foolish enough to be in his path. He was quite literally seeing red.

* * *

A/N: I am down on my knees, offering my most profound and heart-felt apologies for taking so damn long to finish this chapter. Please forgive me, oh faithful readers. I hope you enjoy this chapter; it was, after all, a pain in the ass to write. Once again, if you wish to bring anything to my attention, don't hesitate to do so. You won't hurt my feelings.

Also, I would like to add that from now on I will be dating each chapter (the year is irrelevant, so don't bother trying to figure it out.). Everything that happens in one chapter is also happening on the same day unless otherwise stated.

Sauda is pronounced sa-OO-dah and means "dark beauty" in Swahili. And I know you are all wondering why she's there if she doesn't care about the war, but I promise you'll find out.

I would like to thank everyone who reviewed: They really do encourage me. I don't mean to sound like I'm blackmailing or bribing you, but the more reviews I get; the more I want to write. (I'm grinning sheepishly right now).


	7. Bird's Eye View

**Disclaimer: **Alas, Ruby is _not_ JKR. Poor me.

**Bird's Eye View**

Thursday, September 18

Draco was lying on top of his bed staring at the ceiling, bored to tears. He had nothing to distract him from his pesky thoughts. Granger was driving him crazy behaving like a…well, like Granger. She obviously couldn't choose between 'doing the right thing,' as she pronounced it, or hating him.

He didn't care one way or the other, really, so long as she made up her bloody mind. He really didn't want to have to guess which Granger would show up every time they made contact. Yesterday she had offered a truce based on the premise that their 'school-yard rivalry' was outdated; today she tried to rip his arm off. And the conversation he had with his cousin only added insult to injury.

"_So, why'd Granger send you to tell me? Avoiding me already?"_

"_No, I volunteered. Why? Do you miss her already?" she asked with a mischievous smile._­

Draco rubbed his face angrily, trying to banish the memory. It didn't want to oblige.

_Draco snorted. "Is there something else you came for, or will you be on your way now," he ground out with forced politeness._

"_Tell me what happened this morning…"_

He was sure he's responded with actual words, but if asked he would not be able to repeat them. All he remembered was his cousin's laughter mingled with the screaming banshee down the hall and the thunk of her heavy boots as she descended the stairs. Between Granger's early morning assault and Nymphadora's annoying appearance, Draco had spent the better part of the day either brooding sullenly or seething.

Frustrated beyond belief, Draco stood and began pacing the width of the room. With a great effort he forced his mind away from his dreadful day and turned it towards the previous night. Those memories were much less embarrassing.

Granger, to his continued surprise, had been tolerable yesterday. She had treated him with kindness and an understanding that bordered on empathy. There had been no judgment in her eyes, nor had she taken advantage of his vulnerability. She had even agreed to his request to view Snape's memories with her.

Not that he was much help. He supposed Snape chose each memory for a specific reason, but said reason was lost on Draco. He understood why Snape chose to reveal his Vow to the Order, as well as the fact that Dumbledore had known about it. The two memories in combination filled in some of the blanks concerning that night on the Astronomy Tower.

Comprehension, however, had not lessened Draco's heartache at seeing his mother. It had been almost two years and he missed her dearly. As far as he was concerned, she was the only family he had left. Lucius and Bellatrix forfeited that claim the moment they cast _Avada Kedavra_ at him. It still hurt like hell. Draco had spent his entire life trying to make his father proud, never to succeed. Lucius destroyed all hope of that ever happening the day he chose the Dark Lord over his own son. Draco had risked his life for his father, and that was how he chose to repay him.

Raking his hands through his shaggy blond hair, Draco once more had to force his mind to change the subject. Wallowing in teen-aged angst was pointless; the past was past.

Speaking of the past, he was desperately curious to know what Granger was hiding. He had no way of knowing how that fourth memory had played out in the cemetery, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the mass of scars on her back. It looked like she'd received a blast of shrapnel, full on.

A flash of inexplicable outrage shot through him at the thought, leaving him more than a little stunned. _Since when do you care what happens to Granger?_ he thought. Bewildered, Draco plopped down on the foot of his bed as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. For some reason, only known to Merlin and his friends, the hateful, twisted Fates, he actually gave a shite about Hermione Granger.

Not that he was comfortable with this most recent development. On the contrary; it made him quite nauseous. His stomach turned alarmingly and he felt his face grow hot and flushed. He didn't even _like_ her, not one bit. She was a bossy, self righteous know-it-all who had recently taken to accosting his person. Not to mention she was the secretary of the Harry Potter Fan Club. So why exactly was it that she suddenly mattered?

_Because, she cares about you._

_She's got a funny way of showing it._

_You deserved it._

He had called her a Mudblood. Draco's mind was racing now, trying to make sense of all these new revelations. Was it true? It certainly was possible. Granger had saved his life, and looked after him diligently for four days - from the looks of it, without sleeping. She had extended an olive branch and been there when he needed to be comforted. Bloody hell, she threatened Fenrir Greyback – for him (and admitted it). Yes, it was definitely possible. It was also possible that she had gone completely mental. Perhaps that was really why Potter had left her behind.

_Potter._

The mere thought of his arch nemesis was enough to make his anger bubble up to the surface again. Something terrible had happened in the graveyard that night, and Draco just _knew_ Potter had done it. Naturally anything Potter ever did made Draco irate, but this was different. He just wasn't sure how.

The three of them had a habit of throwing themselves in front of danger when they were in school, why would they suddenly begin acting rationally now that they were on their own? What Draco did know was that Granger was embarrassed by what happened. The question was: Was she embarrassed by her own actions, or Potter's?

The sound of a clock chiming down the hall sliced through Draco's disturbing thoughts like a knife. It was four o'clock which meant he had an hour until his meeting with Remus Lupin. A shower was definitely in order.

The bag of clothing Granger had brought him the day before was still on the floor next to the bed where he left it. He dumped the clothes on the bed so he could better examine them. Draco crinkled his nose in mild distaste. They were undoubtedly Muggle, and the thought of wearing boxers picked out by Granger was rather discomforting.

"I suppose beggars cannot be choosers," he mumbled resignedly. "At least they're not tacky."

Quickly selecting an outfit, Draco went down the hall to the bathroom. It was old and a bit shabby, but it was clean, which was more than he could say about the dirt motel he'd been staying in before. In the cupboard he found a clean towel as well as his shaving bag and a pair of shears.

He took his time shaving. It had been many days, and Draco didn't want to knick himself with the old blade. He also used the shears to roughly trim his unkempt hair away form his face, ears and off of the back of his neck. He would normally do this with his wand, but he didn't even know where it was. He remembered using it to summon the portkey, but after that he couldn't recall.

Running the water, Draco carefully removed the dirty bandages that were wrapped around his chest. He realized that he would need Granger to put the fresh ones on which ended the brief fantasy that he would not have to see her again today. He dropped the gauze into the waste bin next to the sink and kicked off his bottoms. They were hideous. He hadn't really looked at them before and he was grateful they were Potter's, not his. He'd never have to wear them again.

The water was scalding hot and steam quickly filled the small bathroom. Draco welcomed the heat, allowing it to wash off four days of grime and bad memories. It also gave him time to think about what he would tell Lupin. He had been purposefully avoiding the topic all day. Draco knew he needed to choose his words carefully. Letter from Dumbledore or not, the Order still had every right to toss him out on his ear, or worse, hand him over to the Ministry so they could toss him into Azkaban. That was not an appealing prospect.

Draco wondered what his old Defense professor would say to him as well. Granger had said Lupin wanted to speak with him. What exactly was it she said?

"_Because you were bitten by a werewolf and he is one…"_

Draco halted abruptly with his hands in his hair and apple scented shampoo dripping down his back. He suddenly felt very, very ill. He _had_ been bitten – no, mauled – by a werewolf. Was Granger suggesting that he could now be one of those unholy creatures? He could barely bring himself to think it. It hadn't been a full moon. Did that mean anything?

More nervous than ever before, he hastily rinsed his hair and washed before jumping out of the shower. He dried and pulled on his pants and jeans in a hurry; he had to get out of the steamy bathroom. He was having trouble breathing; the idea of turning into one of those filthy beasts every month was more than he could handle. Black t-shirt in hand, he flung the door open and stumbled into the hallway – and right into Granger.

She squeaked when he crashed into her, but she managed to keep her balance and prevent him from falling at the same time. Not liking the way he liked how her hands felt on his skin, he shoved off, taking a couple of steps backwards.

"Get your hands off me, Mu-… just don't touch me," he said, more angry with his self than with her.

She shrugged. "Fine, next time I'll let you fall."

Momentarily at a loss for words, Draco took in Granger's appearance. She looked the same, if not a little older, and her hair was definitely not a frizzy as he remembered it. It was curly now, and she had it tied back. A few stray ringlets were sticking to her forehead with perspiration, making him wonder what exactly she had been doing with his cousin. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of baggy, holey jeans.

_Muggle clothes do her justice._

"You're staring, Malfoy," she said. There was just the tiniest bit of smug amusement in her voice. "Are you going to have to put out your eyes now, for checking out a Mudblood?"

"Don't flatter your self, Granger," Draco spat, trying to sound disgusted. "What do you want? Have you come to attack me again? I thought you Gryffindors always took the high road."

Granger smirked in a very self-satisfied manner. It was amazing how she didn't even have to say anything to get under his skin. "Professor Lupin will be here in ten minutes. You can wait in the study upstairs; I'll show you."

The stairs were right there, so Granger began mounting them without waiting for his reply. Not having any argument, he gingerly put his shirt on and climbed up after her. There were three doors on the next level; the first one was their destination. Granger pushed open the door and entered. She brought a blazing fire to life in the hearth with a flick of her wand before she addressed Draco.

"I'll have dinner ready for when you're done. Just come down into the kitchen." She walked past Draco to the door, the over-long bottoms of her jeans making swishing noises on the worn carpet.

He was a bit surprised by her nonchalant attitude. Draco was quickly realizing that he did not understand a damned thing about Hermione Granger. He'd expected her to still be a bit sore from their confrontation that morning; he certainly was. Yet there she was, inviting him to dinner.

"Granger, wh-"

Stopping two steps down, Granger turned and interrupted him. "You were a git, I overreacted. Let's leave it at that." She took another step down and paused, "Good luck, Malfoy."

Draco watched her descend, completely dumbfounded. Not knowing what else to do, he sat down on the leather love seat in front of the window. The sun was setting, but the fire provided enough light to view the room. Draco, however, was not paying attention to the room. He was too busy trying to figure out what was going on between Granger and himself, if there was anything.

A few minutes later, Remus Lupin entered the study followed closely by Madame Pomfrey. Draco rose and greeted them both, shaking Lupin's hand and nodding politely to Madame Pomfrey. The medi-witch nodded in return. She looked the same as ever, if not more stressed, but Lupin was even more tattered and worn than Draco recalled.

"Good evening Mr. Malfoy. Come now, let's have a look at you. Take off your shirt."

Draco complied, and Madame Pomfrey began closely examining the remaining wounds on his chest. After a minute, she completed the exam by waving her wand in front of him. Draco did not know the significance of the intricate pattern she wove, but she was obviously satisfied with the results.

"Have you been eating properly?" she asked curtly.

"Since I've been here, yes," he said, tugging his shirt back over his head.

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Yes, Madame, I slept well enough last night. It's Granger that doesn't sleep," he added out of the blue. He'd noted when he woke up that morning that she still wore the clothes she'd had on the day before. Draco watched as Madame Pomfrey's no-nonsense expression turned into a worried frown.

"She's been like that since before she left my care. I daresay her body has become accustomed to it." The old witch shook her head and said, "You be sure and thank her, Mr. Malfoy. You wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for her quick thinking.

"Remus," she said, turning towards the other man, "I really must get back. There was another attack this afternoon and I'm swamped."

After the three said their farewells, Lupin sat in the armchair across from Draco and gestured for him to do the same. Once seated, Lupin set his intense brown eyes on Draco, making him a little uncomfortable. Forcing his face into a calm expression, he waited for his old professor to begin.

"Why don't you start from the beginning, the night Dumbledore died," Lupin suggested. "I'll get us some scotch."

While Draco took a deep breath to prepare himself for the lengthy narrative, Lupin summoned a bottle of rich amber liquid and two tumblers from the small bar across the room. He took a sip of the potent liquor, and began where Lupin had suggested – at the beginning.

Draco had not decided how much he would divulge beforehand, but in the end he held little back. Lupin sat in silence, nursing his drink while Draco told of his flight with Snape and how he learned that he was no longer welcome in Death Eater circles. Hardly two months after the death of Dumbledore, Lucius, along with all of the other Death Eaters who had been caught in the Department of Mysteries, had broken out of Azkaban. Draco related to Lupin how the Dark Lord had given Lucius one last shot at redemption by ordering him to kill Draco. He told of the night where Lucius, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Dolohov had caught up with him and almost succeeded in murdering him.

"That was eight months ago," Draco said as he set his empty glass on the table. "Ever since, I've been hiding in Muggle hotels and the like. Until Sunday night, anyways. I received an owl from Snape, and we met in Knockturn Alley twenty minutes later. Greyback had followed him, and he attacked us. Snape died protecting me," he said, trailing off. Snapshots from that night were flashing through his mind, whether he wanted them to or not. Shaking his head to banish the images, he continued, "The letter from Dumbledore was in his robes' pocket. I used the portkey he'd made and came here. You know the rest."

Lupin sat in silence for a moment before draining his glass and setting it on the table next to Draco's. His intense scrutiny was slightly unnerving, but Draco kept his cool.

"What happens now?" he asked calmly.

"That depends on you, Draco," Lupin began. "You are welcome to stay here and hide until this war is either won or lost, or you may choose to make yourself useful."

Draco arched a curious brow. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting, Professor?"

"Yes, I am. As long as you think I'm suggesting you become an active member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Why?" This was certainly not what Draco was expecting. He had been fully prepared to hear that he was to leave the premises as soon as he was well, not offered a job. "You've been hunting me, maybe not with the intent to kill me, but no one's forgotten the role I played in Dumbledore's death."

"This is true, and Professor McGonagall and I debated long and hard before arriving at our conclusion. We both agree that Albus' faith in you was quite possibly hugely misplaced, but we have known him for long enough to know that he always had a card up his sleeve, so to speak."

"Meaning…" Draco was still trying to process his former professors' logic. Were they really basing their decision on a letter written at least fifteen months ago, if not longer? Dumbledore was trusting to a fault, but Professor McGonagall was a shrewd woman. Not to mention she never cared for Draco.

"Meaning that he was more than likely privy to information we haven't guessed at which suggests that he knew what he was doing when he wrote you that letter."

"You're doing all of this because I showed up here with a letter written by a man who died over a year ago?" Draco did not bother trying to hide his skepticism. There had to be a catch.

"In short, yes. Albus was a very insightful man, Draco, and we trust his judgment, even if he has been dead for some time. He saw something in you, and Minerva and I have decided to give you the opportunity to show us what it was."

"He trusted Snape, and look where that got him," Draco pointed out.

"Ah, Snape," Lupin said, "we could debate that one until we were blue in the face, but when it comes down to it, I doubt anyone will ever know. I personally never liked him, nor did he like me, but I know that Severus held Albus in the highest regards. I'm sure there is a hidden meaning behind everything that happened that night, but we'll save that discussion for another time."

A tense silence fell over the two men. Draco could feel his skin crawling with it and had to force himself not scratch his arms in an effort to dispel the uncomfortable feeling. They surveyed each other for several minutes. Lupin sat serenely in his chair, left leg crossed over his right while Draco was leaning forward with his elbows propped up on his knees.

Draco was completely dumbfounded by Professor Lupin's trust in him. He'd never done anything to be considered trustworthy. Granger, too, had shown a great deal of confidence in him by allowing him to watch Snape's memories. The only thing he could attribute it to was the rose colored spectacles most Gryffindors seemed to wear, but not even that made sense. Lupin had seen far more of the world than Granger had, and was not so naïve as to believe that the son of a notorious Death Eater could change his stripes so easily.

But Draco had changed. He was still smarmy, sarcastic, and condescending, but whatever color spectacles he'd viewed the world through during his youth had been shattered a long time ago. In the past months, he'd come to terms with the reality of the war Voldemort was waging. Every prejudice that had been ingrained in him since the day he was born was rubbish and now he knew it. Professor Snape himself was proof that being pureblood didn't make you a better wizard, as was Lucius. Snape had been twice the man and wizard Draco's father ever could be. Even Granger was a living, breathing example that Voldemort's cause was nothing more than an age old quibble gone completely out of hand. She was Muggle-born and had easily bested Draco in every class, including Potions.

Perhaps it was time Draco gave doing the right thing a try.

"What's the catch?" he said, finally breaking the silence.

"You'd be working with Hermione," Lupin responded without hesitation.

"Granger? You want me and Granger to be partners? Did you not see us this morning? We'll end up killing each other."

Lupin chuckled lightly. "On the contrary, Mr. Malfoy, I think you two will make an excellent team."

_The man's lost his marbles._

_So have you if you're considering working with that self-righteous know-it-all._

Then Draco remembered (with no less nausea) what Granger had said to him the day before. He was a little surprised that Professor Lupin hadn't mentioned it yet.

"Speaking of Granger," he began, "she may have intimated that I might become a werewolf."

At Draco's statement Lupin grew serious once more. His jaw was set in a firm line and his brow was furrowed giving him the appearance of being much older than he actually was. Draco watched as Lupin carefully sorted through any number of responses before selecting the correct one.

"It is possible, but your circumstance is almost completely unique."

Draco did not like the sound of that. "What exactly does that mean?"

"Fenrir Greyback is the only werewolf in recorded history to possess the ability to transform at will. It is not known how he does it, but the lunar cycle has little control over him except for one night a month when the full moon rises. Likewise, there is only one person who had ever survived an attack by Greyback during a non-lunar transformation – Bill Weasley."

"Did he-" Draco began, but Lupin interrupted him.

"No, he did not become a werewolf, but that doesn't necessarily mean you won't. Lycanthropy is a strange phenomenon; some insist it's a disease, others believe it's a curse, but no definitive research has been completed to prove one theory or the other. During a full moon, one who survives an attack will absolutely become a werewolf, but Bill Weasley, and now you, are the only examples we have of survivors of a non-lunar attack. It might affect you in a completely different manner."

Draco was flabbergasted. He had known much about werewolves after learning about them in DADA his third year at school, but it didn't make the news any less difficult to hear. Basically what Professor Lupin was saying was that no one had clue as to what was going to happen to him. In all honesty, the way the past couple of years had gone for him, Draco wouldn't be surprised in the least if he became a werewolf. Pissed as hell, but not surprised.

"May I have some time to think about your offer, Professor?" Draco asked once he found his tongue. He had a lot to think about, working side by side with Granger being the least of his worries.

"Of course," he replied, "you may have until Sunday night. There's a meeting and you should decide by then." Draco nodded and Lupin stood to leave. "And, Draco, I know there's a fair amount of bad blood between you and Hermione, but give her a chance. She's a good person and a loyal friend. It would be a shame for you to toss this opportunity aside because you disliked one another as children."

Draco didn't know how to respond to that, so he watched mutely as Professor Lupin turned and began walking towards the door. He was beginning to make a habit of this, but he spoke up at the last second, causing Lupin to halt with his hand on the knob.

"Who else knows I'm here?" He wasn't sure why he asked, but it seemed terribly important at the time.

"Hermione, myself, Professor McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, your cousin, Nymphadora, Mad-Eye Moody, and your mother are the only ones who know."

Draco's chest contracted with some unknown emotion, making it difficult for him to breathe. His vision swam momentarily and for a moment he thought he might black out, but he held on. For some reason he was having trouble absorbing what Lupin said; he must have heard wrongly.

_...your mother…_

"What did you say?" he croaked out once his eyesight began returning to normal. "Because I could have sworn you just said that my mother knew I was here."

"That's correct. I spoke with her this morning, in fact."

If Draco was stunned before, he was absolutely floored by Lupin's conversational tone. He spoke as though the two of them met every Thursday for tea and biscuits to talk about the weather. What possible reason could his mother have for speaking with Remus Lupin?

"How is that possible?" he asked for lack of anything more intelligent.

"She offered to spy for the Order; Minerva and I accepted."

"Why would she put herself in danger like that?" Draco said. His shock was quickly turning into fear. His mother was a Slytherin, and a clever witch, but if Lucius ever found out, he'd kill her. There was no doubt in Draco's mind. He knew Lucius beat his mother; he had ever since Draco was a small boy. He was filled with dread at the thought of what Lucius would do once Narcissa's infidelity was discovered.

"I believe her exact words were, 'I'm willing to betray everything I know to save my son. This war will be the end of him if something is not done to turn the tables.' She was quite adamant."

Draco was growing tired of feeling shocked, but the hits just kept on coming. He knew his mother was not prone to making rash decisions; she was cautious and methodical, but Draco wasn't sure she knew what she was getting herself into. She was afraid that he would be a casualty of war, but he now feared the same thing for her. At least he wouldn't spend the next three days debating what to do. He would not allow his mother, the only family he had left, to be another hash mark on the ever growing death toll.

"I'll do it," he blurted out. "Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it."

* * *

Hermione had just finished carefully pouring the cooked spaghetti into a colander in the sink to drain when Professor Lupin entered the kitchen wearing a smile suspiciously similar to the one he'd worn that morning.

"Well?" Hermione asked expectantly.

"It would seem that you have a new partner, Hermione," he said.

She dropped the pot in the sink, almost spilling spaghetti everywhere. "Come again?"

"I'll inform Mad-Eye at once. You'll be training and working together," Lupin said matter of factly.

"You mean-, we-, but-," Hermione stuttered, suddenly unable to articulate. "Are you insane?"

Lupin's smile only became that much brighter, "Come, now, I have perfect faith that the two of you will be able to work professionally, side by side."

"Yeah, sure, if we can manage to not murder each other first!" she exclaimed. It was one thing to be stuck under one roof with him, but to spend practically every waking moment with him as well? That was just too much.

"What about Harry?" she argued desperately. "I can't tell Malfoy about our mission."

"I'm not asking you to, Hermione," Lupin explained rationally. "Any task you might undertake with Draco will be completely unrelated to whatever it is Harry and Ron are doing, I assure you."

That had been the only argument Hermione could muster. There was no legitimate excuse for them not working together other than the fact that they fought like cats and dogs. Harry and Ron would still be an issue, however. If they would have been angered by the mere fact that Malfoy was there, at Grimmauld Place, how would they react to Hermione working as harmoniously as possible with him?

_Oh, Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?_

"I'll see you Sunday night, at the meeting," Lupin said before Hermione could mount any further protests. "You will begin training together on Monday, so I suggest you try to reach some sort of agreement before then."

Hermione stared at him dumbly, completely taken aback by this new turn of events. She just knew that obnoxious little voice in her head was going to have a field day with this one. She'd be arguing with herself 'til kingdom come.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Professor," she managed to squeak just before he vanished in a burst of green flame.

Mechanically, Hermione sunk down into a kitchen chair and continued to stare blankly at the fire. It was still hard for her to believe the conversation she'd just had with Professor Lupin had actually taken place. Not only had Malfoy decided to join the Order (decision made in less than an hour), but they were going to be partners. The notion of being with Malfoy constantly was somewhat less than appealing.

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to feel, not just concerning their new arrangement, but Malfoy in general. She was torn between being mature and compensating for the several years of hell he'd given her. She was over their little debacle that morning, and had said as much when she left Malfoy in the study. A long, hard day of physical and magical training had given her some perspective. There was also the fact that she was just too damned tired to argue with him about it anymore. He'd called her a Mudblood and she'd humiliated him; they were square in her book.

But Malfoy was acting so oddly. Last night had been a little awkward, but friendly. Neither had provoked the other, and at one point Malfoy had gone so far as to tease her – in a nice way. Nor was her own behavior was any more logical. She'd tried so hard yesterday to not treat him like a Malfoy. Hermione had spoken from the heart when she suggested they put their school days behind them. Now she feared that any tentative bridges she'd built were burned.

Hermione was ashamed by how easily he'd provoked her. It wasn't like he'd never called her that before. Why should this time be any different?

_Because you were hoping he'd changed._

And now they would be working together. Hermione was going to have to start all over again, unless Malfoy was feeling especially magnanimous. Hermione realized that she _wanted_ to start over again. It didn't make any sense, but it was true.

She suddenly wanted a good stiff drink very badly.

As if on cue, two empty glasses appeared on the table in front of her. Malfoy followed. Pouring a double into each glass from the bottle in his hand, Malfoy took one for himself and nudged the other towards Hermione.

Shifting her dazed gaze from the glass to Malfoy, Hermione saw that he was studying her rather intently. His face was a mixture of discomfort, uncertainty, and determination – but mostly determination. Was it possible that he was going to take their new arrangement seriously?

Not having anything else to do, Hermione picked up her drink. "Don't tell anyone, but you just read my mind."

Malfoy offered a crooked half smile in response, but said nothing. He was probably still stuck on the huge irony of their situation. Lupin had informed Hermione of his intention to offer Malfoy the opportunity to aid the Light, but she most certainly had not expected him to take the offer. Just like she hadn't anticipated being made partners.

It was time it begin rebuilding those bridges. Trying to appear as determined as Malfoy, Hermione sought out his beautiful grey eyes. She raised her glass towards the center of the table.

"Truce?"

"You'll have to teach me how you did that little trick you pulled this morning," he said after a moment's deliberation.

"Only if you promise not to call me a Mudblood," Hermione bargained. Malfoy acquiesced with a slight nod. "Why did you agree to do this?" she said, lowering her glass.

"My mother. She's got it in her head that the only way she can help is to spy on Death Eaters. This morning she threw in with your lot."

"It's your lot too, now, Malfoy," Hermione pointed out. "And I know." Malfoy arched a questioning brow, waiting for an explanation. "This house is under the Fidelus Charm and I'm the Secret Keeper. That's why Professor Lupin came by this morning; he needed the secret for your mother. He asked me not to tell you."

Malfoy considered this briefly before moving on. "How did you get those scars on your back," he asked.

Hermione wasn't sure if she was ready to tell that story. No one knew what happened that night in Ipswich but her, Ron, and Harry. They hadn't even told Madame Pomfrey, and she can be a very demanding nurse. On the other hand, this conversation with Malfoy was going much more smoothly than Hermione could have hoped for. They were setting the terms for their new relationship, offering a bit of personal information in good faith. She was going to have to start trusting him sometime; her wounds were just so tender.

"Granger?" Malfoy said, interrupting her introspection. She'd been staring blankly at her glass.

"It was an accident," she croaked. When she looked up at him again, he had the most curious expression on his face. Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, but it wasn't an expression she ever pictured Malfoy wearing. "It won't happen again."

Malfoy continued to stare at Hermione, making her a bit fidgety. She held her breath hoping he would leave it at that for now. It was a pretty big deal that she'd said anything at all. She didn't even give Lupin or McGonagall as much as she'd just given Malfoy. Hermione had remained fiercely loyal to Harry, even though his behaviour towards her hardly warranted it.

"It was Potter, wasn't it?" Malfoy demanded with poorly concealed hostility. His silver eyes flashed in anger. "He did it to you."

Hermione mistook Malfoy's concern for animosity, yet she could not open her mouth to defend Harry. It _had_ been an accident, but it had also been Harry's fault. Hermione had spent the last four months trying to rationalize what happened between them. In the end she was always left with the truth, however painful it might be.

"Yes."

For a moment, Hermione thought Malfoy might push for more details, but he apparently thought better of it. Instead he raised his heretofore untouched drink.

"Truce?" he said, repeating her earlier question.

Hermione raised her drink to his, glass clinking on glass. "Truce."

They each brought their glasses to their lips, never breaking eye contact. Hermione smiled at the unlikelihood of what she had just agreed to. Malfoy smiled the same smile and together they drained their drinks in one go.

Hermione rarely drank, and she had to fight not to cough as the liquid fire raced down her throat. Her eyes watered ever so slightly and an uncontrollable shudder worked its way up her spine. Malfoy was smirking, but she let him have his moment. So what if she wasn't accustomed to the burn of alcohol? Dinner was getting cold, anyways.

"Let's eat," she said. Hermione rose from the table and turned back to her abandoned spaghetti.

Setting the pasta, sauce, forks, and plates on the table, Hermione served dinner. She had to admit it was a strange concept, sharing a quiet meal with Draco Malfoy, but it no longer seemed awkward. They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally stealing looks at one another. She decided that she like to watch Malfoy. Every move he made was graceful and deliberate – and he chewed with his mouth closed, unlike two other boys Hermione knew… He was easy on the eyes, too. Malfoy was watching her with interest as well, though he was trying harder to hide it. And the once-over he'd given her in the hall that afternoon was definitely appreciative. She couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy was as conflicted about her as she was about him.

"You spend a lot of time researching, don't you?" he asked.

He set his fork down and was looking at her directly. Hermione realized that Malfoy did something that most people no longer did: he almost always made eye contact when speaking. She wondered if it was just with her, or if he did that with everyone. Not that she minded. It was nice to be noticed by someone other than Tonks, Moody, or Lupin.

"How very astute of you to notice."

"What do you know about Fenrir Greyback?" he said, ignoring her smart comment.

"Not much more than Professor Lupin probably told you. I looked into after what happened to Bill, but I didn't find anything. He really is the only werewolf to manage the transformation like he does. It's rather fascinating, in my opinion."

"Only you would think an out of control, blood thirsty werewolf would be fascinating. You just have to know everything, don't you, Granger?"

"There is nothing wring with expanding one's knowledge," she said, feigning injury. She knew full well that Malfoy had hardly been lax in his studies at school.

"Do you know if he's completely nocturnal, or can he transform during the day as well?" Malfoy asked, returning to the original topic.

"No, I don't." she admitted. "That's a really good question. He usually operates after dark, so I doubt he's ever needed to change while it's daylight. Although, I personally would tend to believe that he can, just to be on the safe side."

Malfoy slipped into pensive silence. Hermione could see the gears turning. She understood why he wanted to know so much about Greyback. The very real possibility that he might become a werewolf must be driving him insane. She knew she'd be doing the exact same thing.

"Do you think he's an Animagus and no one's realized?"

_Animagus._

_Sweet Merlin, why didn't I think of that?_

"Bloody brilliant," she said aloud. "Of course that's it." Everything suddenly made perfect sense.

Hermione's jaw fell open as another thought jumped into her head. If Malfoy could become an Animagus, they might be able to determine whether or not he would become a werewolf before the full moon arrived. She grew excited as her mind traveled further down that line of thinking. If he could master the magic, Malfoy might be able to shift like Greyback, making him a huge asset to the Order. And if he wasn't a werewolf, well, who wouldn't want to be an Animagus?

There was only one flaw. Werewolves were dangerous creatures. They were resistant to almost all magic and no amount of combat training would make Hermione good enough to physically subdue a werewolf. Then she remembered why Sirius, James and Wormtail became Animagi in the first place.

They didn't do it just to keep Lupin company – they did it for their own protection as well. True, a werewolf could overpower an Animagus with brute force, but in animal form Animagi were immune to lycanthropy. Perhaps she could…

"That's it!" Hermione exclaimed as she leapt from her seat towards the door. Her chair clattered to the floor behind her, but she paid it no heed.

"What's-"

"Wait here," she threw over her shoulder as she exited the kitchen. She'd explain everything once they made it to the library. First she needed to gather some things.

Stopping in the library first, Hermione threw a stack of blank parchments, several quills as well as a handful of ink bottles into her school bag. Most of the texts they would be using were in the restricted section. Hermione had access to every book Hogwarts owned, with Professor McGonagall's permission, but Madame Pince would never allow anyone to remove a restricted text from the library. She and Malfoy would have to take notes.

After snatching a hooded sweatshirt from Harry's room for Malfoy to wear in case he got cold, Hermione went to her room. She needed to retrieve not only a sweater from her wardrobe, but something else as well.

The first hoodie she saw, a light blue fleece, was immediately crammed into her satchel. Then she dropped to her knees and opened the bottom drawer. On the left hand side was a long, narrow cherry wood box with vines engraved on the lid and sides. It used house her wand, now it held Malfoy's Hawthorn and Unicorn Hair. She'd found it at the bottom of the front steps the morning after he arrived and put it in the box for safe keeping.

Once Hermione returned to the kitchen, she found the table cleared and Malfoy waiting not-so-patiently next to the fire. Without a word, Hermione shoved the box into his hand.

"You're going to need this," she said.

Malfoy's eyes sparkled when he opened the box. He stroked the wand lovingly before removing it and placing the container on the table. Both of them knew what a leap of faith it was for Hermione to give him his wand back. He was armed now, and she was trusting him not to stab her in the back.

"Thank you," he said solemnly.

"You're welcome,"

"So, are we going to the library?" Hermione nodded, not caring how he guessed. "To research what?"

Hermione smile mischievously. "We," she said, gesturing back and forth between the two of them, "are going to become Animagi."

* * *

The night was cold and the wind was fierce, but the hawk never moved from his perch above the two boys. They sat around a feeble fire wrapped in blankets, trying not to feel sorry for themselves. The hawk could discern their voices clearly; his sharp sense of hearing tuning in effortlessly over the howling wind.

"How much longer do you think it will take to find the wand?" the gangly red-head asked.

"I don't know, Ron," the other replied, "but I'm bloody tired of this."

"You and my arse both," Ron said as he shifted uncomfortably.

They sat in silence before the ginger spoke up once again. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever regret leaving Hermione behind?"

"Only because she's so much better at Charms and Transfigurations than we are."

"Oh," Ron said dumbly. "So you don't even feel a little bit guilty?"

Harry shrugged. "It's better this way."

Had the hawk been in his human form, he would have snorted in disbelief. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were helpless without Hermione Granger. They knew it and he knew it, and he suspected that she knew it as well, even if she was too modest to admit it. They boys were headstrong and foolhardy. She was intelligent, clever, and subtle – in short, everything they were not.

"I was so sure it was going to be at Glinsk," Harry said in a frustrated tone.

"I know," Ron agreed heartily. "The way that geezer went on at the tourist center, you'd think it was the most haunted castle in Ireland. One lousy poltergeist!"

"I know. Hey, do you hear that?"

The hawk heard it. Not far away a shrill hooting could be heard over the wind blowing through the dead and dying leaves in the trees and on the ground.

"Hear what?" Ron asked.

Less than ten seconds later a tiny Dwarf owl landed hard on the ground. It skidded and bounced before landing in a heap in Harry's lap. Harry gently picked up the small bird and set it in the dead grass before him.

"Hello, Pig. I didn't expect you back so soon."

"Maybe Hermione's sent us some good news," Ron said, trying to sound optimistic.

It took Harry several attempts to untie the letter because Pig began hopping about madly in his enthusiasm at having completed his task. Harry finally had to freeze the annoying owl. Quickly he opened and read the missive.

"What did she say?" Ron asked.

"She said that Salazar Slytherin's brother, Simeon, owned a castle in Westmeath called Tullynally."

"I didn't know Salazar had a brother."

"I didn't either," Harry replied, "but when was the last time Hermione was wrong?"

"Yeah, but what if she's sending us on a wild goose chase because we left her behind?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Harry admonished. "This is Hermione we're talking about. She's not the vindictive type. Even if the thought had crossed her mind, she knows how important this is. She'd never sabotage us."

"I suppose you're right."

"We should get some sleep," Harry said. "We're leaving at dawn."

"Or whenever we get up…"

Sure that the boys had nothing more of consequence to say, the hawk winged off into the night, headed south towards England. Severus would definitely want to hear this first hand…

* * *

**A/N:** First and foremost, I want to thank my faithful reviewers once again.

Some of you are probably scratching your heads, wondering why I had Draco accept Lupin's offer with so little consideration. I did it that way because I wanted to show that he was doing it with his mother and _only_ his mother in his thoughts, NOT Hermione. I find that fics which have Draco coming over to the light for Hermione's sake are less credible. His motivations here are much the same as Narcissa's, which I think is believable.

I also want to apologize for being terrible at writing from Draco's POV. It's the reason this chapter took me so long. If there is anything you guys think I need to work on, please, please, _please_, let me know. And don't shoot me if you think that they're too OOC. I'm trying really hard to show that they've both matured in the past two years (even if they have the occasional slip-up), and that they can be professional, if not a little emotional or over-reactive.


	8. Happy Birthday

**Disclaimer: I am not JKR.**

**Happy Birthday**

Friday, September 19

"Malfoy," Hermione whispered. "Malfoy, wake up. We have to go." She was crouched next to the armchair he had fallen asleep in over three hours ago. Hermione herself had awoken only moments before, her hour-long nap cut abruptly short by her usual nightmare.

The two partners had been researching at the library the entire night. Malfoy had not bought into her theory to begin with, but, in the end, he could not deny the logic of her argument. He also seemed happy to have something to do. Hermione knew the feeling well.

The sun had risen already which meant that it would not be long before the hallways were swarming with students. Malfoy being spotted by hundreds of curious eyes was not a good idea. Too many people were looking for him, with less than noble intentions, and Hermione knew that rumors spread like wildfire through Hogwarts.

But she did not really want to wake him either. Hermione had decided many days ago that she liked to watch Malfoy sleep. It was the only time he ever looked peaceful, which in turn calmed her. Everything in her life was so uncertain, but she was able to forget that when she watched him.

It was also much easier to believe that he was a nice guy when he was unconscious. They'd made their pact, and last night proved that they could do _something_ together (even if it was just sitting in the same room reading), but Hermione was not stupid. She knew that it was not going to be easy for either of them. Leaving the past in the past is easier said than done, but the fact that they were willing to try spoke volumes.

"Malfoy," she shook him this time. To Hermione's disappointment, and relief, Malfoy opened his eyes and stretched his arms out in front of him.

"Merlin, Granger," he said groggily, "don't you ever sleep?"

"No," she said with a wry smile. "Help me put the books away. It's after seven and I don't fancy being caught in the halls with all of the students."

They both stood up. Malfoy stretched again and yawned while Hermione began separating sheaves of parchment from the texts which were scattered across the table. Done stretching Malfoy lifted the stack of books closest to Hermione.

"Ashamed to be seen with a Malfoy?" he said acidly.

"Hardly. Aren't you ashamed to be seen with one of Harry Potter's best friends?"

"If you're his best friend, I'd hate to see how he treats his enemies."

Hermione bristled. "At least I have friends."

"Yet here you are with me."

Malfoy was on the other side of a nearby shelf putting away his books. Hermione was grateful that he couldn't see the angry blush that tinged her cheeks. He always knew the right buttons to push.

_Note to self: Malfoy is not a morning person._

Hermione forced herself to take deep breaths instead of thinking of another retort. Lupin was counting on them to behave. She needed to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand like the day before. Besides, who likes to argue first thing in the morning?

"Actually, I'd rather not be seen at all. Last time I was unfortunate enough to still be here when classes started, I was swarmed by about a hundred students wanting to know about Harry. Professor McGonagall had to threaten them all with detention with Filch for them to leave me alone."

Malfoy emerged from the row and walked up behind Hermione, who was now packing away the quills, ink bottles, and parchments into her satchel. She could feel his presence behind her and was more than annoyed at the little flutter in her stomach. Even when they were arguing, her body was responding to him most inappropriately.

"It must be difficult, putting up with a bloke like Potter. Having to clean up his messes, covering for him all the time, never-"

"You're right," Hermione snapped, spinning around to face him, "it's bloody awful. Just like being partners with someone who hates you and is determined to make your life as difficult as possible."

Malfoy stepped closer, leaving them in almost the same position as the last time they argued. Despite her annoyance, Hermione was finding it hard not to look at his lips. All he had to do was tilt his head down just so…

_Stop it!_

"I didn't ask for this, Granger," Malfoy ground out. "Do you think I want to work side by side with a Mud-"

"Don't say it!" Hermione hissed, shooting him her best you'll-be-sorry glare. "And I didn't ask for this either, but we're here. Get over it."

Not giving him another opportunity to get the last word, she grabbed her bag off the table and stormed off. She was clear of the Restricted section and almost to the door before she heard him call her name behind her. Ninety-five percent of her wanted to keep walking, but she found herself stopping and turning nonetheless.

"Granger," he repeated.

Hermione waited until he had halted before her to respond. "What is it?"

"Does Lupin live in the castle?"

"Decided to back out already?" she fired.

Malfoy glared at her. "Never mind," he said as he pushed past her.

"He lives in a cabin near the lake," Hermione gave in with a sigh. "If we hurry, we can catch him before he heads to class."

Draco followed Granger silently, despite the fact that he knew the school as well as she did. They moved quickly, almost furtively, in an effort to keep the castle's residents ignorant of their presence. Draco tried to think of something other than Granger - and the way she moved.

It was like watching a cat prowling, the way she slinked from hall to hall, stepping into shadowy alcoves when they presented themselves. He followed her as quietly as he could, but the only sound she made came from her over-long jean bottoms swishing on the stone floor. She was half crouched with one hand steadying her satchel at her hip while the other held her wand at her side. Every time they came to a corner or an intersection, she would check every direction several times before proceeding. Granger wasn't kidding about not getting caught.

Draco didn't like that he liked watching her. Just like he liked the way Granger chewed her lip while she read. It was absolutely dreadful, sitting across from her all night watching her doing that. It made him want to do things that he would regret afterwards. Waking up with her face in such close proximity had been the icing on the cake. Draco didn't like being close to people, but he seemed to be developing a habit of ending up very near to her.

He was going to have to put a stop to that nonsense. Just because he was suddenly concerned for her well being, didn't mean he had to like her. Or enjoy working with her. Or refrain from instigating arguments between them. In fact, it was best for all parties involved if they stayed as far away from each other as possible. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.

They had remained successfully undetected until they reached the hallway on which the infirmary was located. As they passed the large double doors, Madame Pomfrey burst into the hall looking rather frazzled in Draco's opinion. That fact alone was enough to set him on his guard. In all of his trips to the Hospital Wing, he had never seen the matronly medi-witch ever appear as anything other than collected and professional.

The partners both drew wands instinctively, but Madame Pomfrey paid the weapons no heed. Actually she looked slightly relieved to see them there. "Thank Merlin," she said, "I only have one Healer on staff today."

Granger sighed and lowered he wand. Draco followed suit.

"What's wrong, mum?" she asked. Her brow furrowed with concern.

Draco recognized that look. He'd been on the receiving end of it several times already this week. Whatever Granger was about to decide, he knew he wasn't going to be able to talk her out of it.

"I just got word - there was another attack, thirty minutes ago."

"How can we help?" Granger said immediately.

Draco groaned inwardly. He only wanted to speak to Professor Lupin, but it seemed as though he was about to be roped into working in the infirmary with Granger. She shot him a sidewards glance, and he scowled, letting her know what he thought of the idea.

However, Madame Pomfrey never got the chance to answer as the hall was quickly filled with about two dozen wizards, some wearing Ministry garb, while others seemed to be Aurors. At the head of the pack was Moody, levitating two stretchers behind him. Every other wizard present also had at least one stretcher following them. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head, hiding his face and hair from sight.

Draco couldn't stop the sneer from contorting his face at the sight of his old Defense professor. He knew that the man before him and the man that turned him into a bouncing white ferret were not actually the same person, but the association was still there.

Moody stopped to confer with Madam Pomfrey while the other wizards entered the infirmary. Draco felt his skin crawl; Moody was watching him with that damned eye. Determined not to show his discomfort at Moody's presence, Draco turned his attention on Granger.

Her expression was grim as she took in the victims' conditions. She didn't appear as though she was going to be ill, but she did look like she could rip someone's head from their shoulders right about then. Draco was a bit impressed by her reaction; most girls would have lost their breakfast by now.

"What happened, Mad-Eye?" she asked as the last one floated by. Her voice had an icy edge to it that Draco had not heard before, and her brown eyes were blazing. Her entire demeanor had shifted in the short time they had been at the hospital wing. Her concern for the patients had quickly morphed into righteous anger, and whole her body was tense with it. Draco felt the most profound pity for the fool who stepped in front of her wand when she was in this state.

Madame Pomfrey bustled into the Hospital wing, and the three followed behind her. Moody kept his eye trained on Draco the entire time and he addressed Hermione as they walked.

"Death Eaters attacked a Muggle university in London. King's, I think," he gruffed. "Luckily, they struck early, so there weren't as many casualties as there would have been if the attack had been planned for an hour later."

"How many," Granger demanded, her voice was still hard.

"The Ministry is there right now, but the death toll when we left was over fifty. They're going to play it off as structural instability. The blasting curses they used didn't burn, so it will more than likely fly," he explained.

Draco had been watching Granger the entire time. She had blanched for a heartbeat at the unofficial death count, but her face had become more and more determined with every word the grizzled Auror spoke. She stopped in her tracks right in the middle of the room; Draco stopped too.

"Sir," she said firmly. Her tone of voice caused the old Auror to turn and face her. "When will I be ready?"

Moody studied her for a long moment before responding. "Let's see what you can do with the wandless, and then I'll talk to Remus."

Granger considered for a moment before stiffly nodding her assent. The trio began walking again. Draco was most curious as to what exactly it was the Granger needed to be ready for, and why in the world would she be studying wandless. But now was not the time to ask; he decided to wait and see how the rest of the afternoon played out. If they avoided any major rows, then he'd try and get some information out of her after dinner. Until then he'd hold his tongue.

Madame Pomfrey was not far ahead of them, already tending to one of her newest charges. Draco realized off-handedly that the room was much, much larger than it had been two years ago. It was also filled with an impossible amount of patients. As he took in the magically extended room, he heard Madame Pomfrey and Granger discussing what needed to be done. Moody begged his leave, saying he was needed at the scene.

"Malfoy," Granger said, "are you any good with healing charms?"

"I'm better with potions," he said. Despite what most people thought, Draco had actually applied himself in school.

"Good," Madame Pomfrey said. "You two can take the patients on that side; I'll begin on this side over here. There's a potions cart there at the foot of that bed. If you need my assistance, just let me know." Without another word, the school nurse headed over to the next bed.

Granger did the same, not waiting for Draco to follow. She was expertly checking the vital signs of the Muggle girl. Draco had yet to move and she had yet to notice.

"Why don't you start on the next one, while I finish up here," Granger suggested. Her eyes never left the patient.

"I most certainly will not," Draco said haughtily. "I will work with you if I must, but touching Muggles is not in my job description." He had her attention now. "Why are they even here?" he demanded, gesturing towards the row of unconscious patients.

"Whenever there is an attack, anyone who has been magically injured, or if the rescuer is uncertain, the patient is brought here," she said matter of factly.

"That's not what I mean, Granger," Draco said. He was beginning to become irritated. "Why are they _here_. This is Hogwarts; they should be at St. Mungo's."

Granger, by this point, had completely abandoned her ministrations and was appraising him dubiously. The look on her face made Draco's insides squirm. She was looking at him as though he had just said the most ignorant thing in the world.

"There is no St. Mungo's. Death Eaters all but demolished it six months ago. They managed to kill all but a handful of Healers, too." Draco was astonished; he'd had no idea. Granger retraced her steps and stood before him. "You really didn't know, did you?"

"When one's deep in hiding, one doesn't usually think to pop out and pick up a newspaper," he quipped. "Self preservation, or keeping up on current events – what a tough decision."

"No need to get snippy," said Granger. She was still looking at him strangely.

"I'm still not going to touch them."

Draco became more uncomfortable still when the look of wonderment on her face melted into…disappointment.

"What is it about them that is so disgusting you won't even lift a finger to save a life? Why does not having magic make them inferior? They're still people. Surely you cannot be so callous?" She spoke softly and genuinely, without a trace of her normal antagonism. But Draco was not about to back down. He had to draw the line somewhere.

"Spare me the soapbox dialogue. It's not going to happen." He pointedly avoided answering her questions. Draco might have become less of a bigot as far as Muggle-borns and half bloods – or more accurately, Snape and Granger – were concerned, but Muggles were another story. Nor did he intend on announcing his slight change of opinion to anyone, especially his new partner.

He intended on keeping their relationship one hundred percent professional. Personal was bad. The more private information someone had, the more leverage they had as well. Personal was how he ended up where he was to begin with.

If they both survived the war, he and Granger could (and would) go their separate ways, no strings attached.

_In theory._

Draco didn't like the smug tone the voice in his head had acquired.

_What's that supposed to mean?_

_Oh, nothing, nothing at all._

_My arse._

"Touch me," Granger said unexpectedly.

"Beg your pardon?" he said, bewildered by her absurd request. Touching her was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

_Don't lie to yourself..._

Without replying, she reached out and snatched his wrist before he could step out of reach. His fist clenched reflexively, like he had some secret clutched in his grasp. With the same gentility she had used while caring for his wounds, she unfurled his fingers and timidly held his hand to her cheek.

Her skin was soft and smooth and hot to the touch. Her cheeks were flushed with the boldness of her actions. Draco could scarcely believe how this scene was unfolding, yet he was powerless to stop it. This was not some weak private moment of comfort. They were standing in the middle of a crowded hospital – with death and injury all around - staring at each other with trembling hands and pounding hearts.

His head was screaming at him to stop touching her, to stop looking at her, but he could no more stop either action than he could stop breathing. Draco hated the way she made him respond to her. She chewed her lip briefly – an action he already found infuriatingly attractive – before she spoke.

"One gene, Malfoy, that's it," she said softly. "It's what makes you tall and me short. It's why you have grey eyes, not blue and I have curly hair instead of straight. It's why you and I have magic and they don't. Without it, we are all just human."

She paused for a moment, unsure if she should continue. Draco realized he was holding his breath, but he seemed unable to release it. Just like he was unable to stop his stomach from flip-flopping or to remove his hand from her face. He was too close for comfort, but he couldn't step away for the life of him.

"Am I so repulsive?"

_Not, the first word that comes to mind…_

_Absolutely not._

For the first time since Granger's presence was forced upon him, the voices in Draco's head were in agreement. It was alarming. Suddenly the bustling background, the hundred or so patients, and everything else in the room faded to the back. It was just the two of them now.

Draco did not know what to say. What could he say? To admit that she did not disgust him in the least would be more dangerous than to lie to her at this point. Lying to her would do little more than incur her momentary wrath. To tell the truth would put her that much closer to him, which was something he did not want – with anyone. Regardless, he could not seem to open his mouth one way or the other. He was even with out a snide, sarcastic comment.

As quickly as their private world had formed, it came crashing down at the sound of a familiar voice speaking their names.

"Hermione, Draco, I'm glad you're here," Lupin said. He was standing next to them, his countenance grim. "I just heard about the attack, how did you know?"

Granger's mouth worked like a fish out of water for a moment before she realized – at the same moment Draco did – that they had yet to move from their rather embarrassing positions. Granger's already blushing cheeks deepened to a shade that would rival a Weasley. She dropped his hand and took a hasty step backward.

"I- patients," she mumbled before spinning on her heel and returning to the Muggle girl on the stretcher.

Draco looked from Granger to his tingling palm, to Lupin's bemused and expectant face. He was trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Apparently Granger did not know how to act around him anymore than he knew how to behave around her.

"We were in the library. Madame Pomfrey stopped us in the hallway, and Granger volunteered us. We were on our way to see you," Draco explained. He grew serious when he remembered why he had wanted to speak with his new boss.

"I want to see my mother."

Lupin looked as though he had expected this. "I'm sorry, Draco, but I don't know where she is." He held up his hand, forestalling Draco's argument. "She contacts Minerva by owl. Because of her dangerous position, we all thought it best for us to meet as infrequently as possible. I will, however, ask Minerva to get word to your mother."

"I take it she's not at the Manor any longer, if you don't know where she is," Draco said. It had not been a question, but Lupin nodded his head 'yes' anyways.

"She did say that she left your father."

"Lucius," Draco snapped, his self-control slipping momentarily. "He stopped being my father a long time ago." He was greatly relieved that his mother had left Lucius, but he was equally concerned for her well being. At least when he was on the run, he knew she was at the Manor. He needed to find her.

Lupin nodded once more. "You should get back to work. Poppy would not have enlisted your aid without need." With a small smile, Lupin wandered off to find Madame Pomfrey.

Draco once again found himself alone with Granger, who had finished with the first three patients and moved on to the next. The young man's clothing was in bloody tatters and there were deep gashes all over his body. Draco recognized the _Sectumsempra_ curse when he saw it.

The bleeding had been stopped by whoever had found him, but he still looked to be in bad shape. Granger was trying to get the wounds to close with no luck. She stopped, brow furrowed, bottom lip caught between her teeth and both hands on her hips. He half expected her to stomp her foot in frustration.

"_Episky_ isn't strong enough to heal _Sectumsempra_," he said as he walked over and stood on the opposite side of the bed.

"Don't you think I know that, Malfoy," she snipped. "Bloody Prince and his bloody curses…"

"What are you on about?" Draco said. He couldn't help but wonder how long Granger had been talking to herself.

She waved both hands, dismissing his question. "I've tried every healing charm I can think of, but nothing is working. It would figure that I can bring you back form the dead, but I can't get these stupid cuts to close!"

Ignoring Granger's outburst, Draco withdrew his wand and performed every healing spell he knew. His results were no different. He did, however, want to hex the smug expression right off her face.

"Satisfied?"

"The caster must have combined it with another curse. We won't be able to heal the cuts until we discover what the curse was," he said.

_What's this 'we' business?_

_What ever gets me out of here sooner rather than later._

_Sure. Ok._

Granger echoed his brain's sentiments. "We?"

"Don't get too excited. Let's just do this and get out of here. I'm starving."

"It could take hours to identify the spell," she said. "Maybe all day."

"Don't be ridiculous, Granger. Between the two of us, we'll come up with something."

_Us?_

_Two of us?_

_Oh, leave it out._

"Well, unless you can concoct a potion out of what we have in that cart, then there's only one thing that I haven't done yet," Granger said, looking apprehensive.

"What's that, leave the poor sot to die and move on to the next one? Fine by me."

"Don't be an idiot. Of course I'm not going to let him die. I'm just not sure if it's a good idea, either."

"Make up your mind," Draco said irritably. He didn't know what she could be considering that had her so indecisive, nor did he care. The longer he remained at Hogwarts, the more likely he'd be discovered. "I thought you didn't want anyone to see us here."

"Alright, keep you alans on," Granger returned, stuffing her wand into her back pocket. She stripped off her blue sweatshirt and dropped it at her feet. The white t-shirt she had on underneath rode up, briefly revealing the smooth expanse of her stomach. Draco averted his eyes. Having been caught staring once, he didn't fancy doing it again.

"Why are all of the patients comatose?" he asked as he directed his gaze everywhere but Granger. All of the patients did appear to be in a state of catatonia.

"It's a new spell Madame Pomfrey developed," she explained while she removed the man's shirt. "First responders use it to sort of 'freeze' the victim. It's like pushing pause. When they've been healed, we end the spell and put them to sleep naturally.

"Ok, come stand next to me," she said without skipping a beat. Draco obliged, but more out of curiosity than anything. "If it looks like I am beginning to lose control, you have to stop me."

"And how exactly do you expect me to do that?"

"I don't know, grab my hand or shake me. Anything."

"What are you going to do?"

She was no longer paying attention to her surroundings. Standing braced with her feet square with her shoulders, she placed one hand on the injured man's bare chest. Her eyes were squeezed shut in concentration and her lip was caught once more between her teeth. Draco was about to repeat his question when he saw a faint, silver-white glow surround her hand.

_Interesting…_

Draco was impressed. He had never witnessed anyone his own age command magic sans wand. It normally took years of practice, but here Granger was calling upon it like she did it everyday. He had known she was intelligent, but Draco had never realized how powerful she was.

She was shaking with effort, and a drop of blood was forming where a tooth had torn her lip. Her skin began glowing faintly as the ball of light at her fingertips grew in size. The sight of her was both beautiful and terrible to behold; Draco could not take his eyes off her.

It was not until he felt her magic on his skin like static that it occurred to him that she might actually lose control. Granger was obviously summoning much more magic that was necessary to perform an average – or more advanced – spell. Magic was a wild, dangerous thing when left unchecked. A cold ball of fear formed in the pit of his stomach. Granger had no idea what she was doing.

Draco reached out and gripped her forearm. The contact broke her concentration; she let out a small cry and released the magic pulsing around her hand. It flashed brilliantly, completely illuminating the entire ward. Draco felt it surge through him along with a strange tingling sensation across his chest, and then it was gone.

Granger collapsed. A combination of sleep deprivation and the expenditure of such a high volume of power left her barely conscious. Draco's heart skipped a beat, but his brain did not. He reacted immediately, snatching her up before she hit the ground. He held her to him protectively and breathed an unconscious sigh of relief when her small hands clutched at his shirt trying to pull herself up. Not that Draco needed help supporting her; she was as light as a feather.

Professor Lupin and Madame Pomfrey rushed to their side.

"Draco, what happened?" Lupin asked quietly. His face was even more deeply lined with concern. Madame Pomfrey began waving her wand in an intricate pattern, presumably checking Granger's overall health.

Draco shook his head, not entirely sure what his answer should be.

Granger was stirring against him. He looked down at her and found her looking right back, although her neck was arched at an odd angle to hold the position. Her lightly tanned skin was pallid and anemic, and her normally sparkling brown eyes were clouded with fatigue. He instinctively held her tighter.

"Did it work?" she mumbled. "Did I heal him?"

Draco looked at Madame Pomfrey, who turned to the Muggle on the bed behind her. She inspected him and performed the same spells that were just performed on the limp girl in his arms.

"I don't see anything the matter at all. What was this man's injury?" she asked.

"It was _Sectumsempra_ combined with something else," Draco supplied.

"Then I'd say yes, Miss Granger, you did in fact heal him. There is no evidence of any wounds on his body.

"Good," she said, smiling wanly. "I think I'd like to sit down." Lupin conjured a chair and Draco carefully lowered her into it. Part of him was relieved not to be touching her any longer, but another part of him wanted to just pick her up and carry her away to the privacy of Grimmauld Place.

"What did you do, Miss Granger?" said Madame Pomfrey.

"Well, it seemed silly to waste so much time trying to identify the curse when I knew I could fix him in about thirty seconds." She paused before adding, "There are so many patients."

Just then, a petite woman with round cheeks and a ruddy complexion approached them. Her white robes identified her as Madame Pomfrey's sole assistant for the day. Draco surreptitiously stepped behind Professor Lupin and turned his head to the side, blocking her view of his face.

"Madame," she squeaked, "all of the patients have been healed. None of them bear any signs of being injured or cursed. I don't know how it happened." Her voice jumped an octave. "I was preparing to set a broken leg when it just…fixed itself. I checked the rest of the patients you assigned me, and-"

"Shush now, Miss Lacey, there's no need to put yourself in a state," Madame Pomfrey chided. The Healer had become increasingly more excited with each word. "Why don't you check the patients on this side?"

"Yes, mum." She nodded and was off.

Draco, Lupin, and Madame Pomfrey stared at Granger. She squirmed in her seat.

"What?" she asked, a touch defensively. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She looked at Draco when she said it, as though she was asking him specifically.

"Don't be obtuse, Granger."

She glared at him. "You cannot honestly believe that I healed all of these patients," she said, gesturing weakly around the room. "That would be impossible. I'm not powerful enough."

"Can you think of anything else that would cause a room full of patients to spontaneously heal?"

Madame Pomfrey stepped in and ended their argument. "Let me prepare you a bed; you should stay here and get some rest."

"No thank you," Granger declined politely. "I think I'd really rather go home now." To prove her point, she stood and gathered her sweater and bag.

Madame Pomfrey pushed her back into the chair by her shoulders and wagged a finger at her. "Absolutely not. You are exhausted and I insist you remain here," she ordered.

Granger was about to protest when Draco intervened. "If she's fine, I'm taking her back." It was not a question, it was a statement. It was a non-negotiable statement.

"No you're not," said Madame Pomfrey. She fixed Draco with a gaze that would make just about any student burst into tears. Draco was not a student. He held his ground.

"I can't stay here, but I'm not going to leave her either." He addressed Granger, "Put your sweater on. We're going home."

She stared at him in shock for a moment before mutely obeying. Draco noted that she was still moving lethargically and he suspected he would have to carry her to the nearest Floo. Her skin was still ashen, but her eyes were no longer dull and lifeless. She stood again, ready to leave when he was.

Madame Pomfrey humphed her disapproval, but realized she was not going to win the argument. Professor Lupin remained silent through the debate. He seemed more interested in how the two partners were behaving than in Granger's wellbeing. Madame Pomfrey looked to him for support, but found none.

Draco took the satchel filled with a night's worth of notes from Grangers hands and strapped it across his chest. He gestured for her to head for the exit.

"Good day Madame, Professor," he said. Madame Pomfrey humphed again and bustled off to find Miss Lacey. Lupin put a hand on Draco's shoulder. His expression conveyed an unspoken request.

_Take care of her. Make sure she rests._

Draco nodded.

_I will._

* * *

Hermione walked as confidently as she could across the ward, but as soon as the heavy double doors closed behind her she slumped against the wall opposite and slid to the ground. She was far beyond any measure of exhaustion she had ever felt in her entire life. She had never been so glad to have Malfoy around. Since her discharge, Hermione absolutely refused to do anything in the hospital wing other than help heal others. It was too painful to remember all of the time she spent alone in there, waiting for Harry and Ron to come visit. She would have gone mad had she remained, especially if she had had to be there by her self.

Malfoy entered the hallway. He walked over and crouched down in front of her so he could see her face. She drew her knees up to he chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging them to her body. She didn't want to look at him; he had the ability to make her feel like she was five years old if he really wanted to, and she just wasn't up to it.

"How do you feel?" he asked, much to her surprise.

Hermione felt terrible. She felt weak and dizzy and helpless and a little nauseous. She felt utterly spent. But most of all she felt like an idiot. She should have known after her less than successful experiences during her training session that she wouldn't be able to control the magic.

"I'm fine," she managed weakly.

He watched her for a moment longer, as though he was ascertaining her state for himself. "Good. Let's go then."

Malfoy waited for her to stand up, and walked beside her, even though she was moving very, very slowly. She could tell he was anxious to leave the school, but he didn't rush her. They didn't make it very far. About thirty meters down the corridor, Hermione's legs gave out on her.

Malfoy caught her, again. In one smooth motion he picked her up, hooking one arm underneath her knees and wrapping the other around her back.

"You don't have to do this," Hermione protested.

"Be quiet, Granger. At the rate you're going it will be dinner by the time we make it to McGonagall's office.

Hermione didn't argue with him. He was carrying her easily, and she felt safe – small, but safe – in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder; it seemed only natural. He smelled like her shampoo. His muscles tensed, but he relaxed so quickly, Hermione wasn't sure she'd even felt it. Neither of them felt the need to say anything at all.

Hermione thought about everything that happened in the infirmary. She really needed to work on her impulse control. Though she could not deny that she had liked the way he looked at her. He might be able to hide his emotions from everyone else, but his eyes told her everything. He had been afraid – for her. Right now he was carrying her down the hall because she was too weak to walk. Draco Malfoy had shown more concern for her in the past twenty minutes than Harry and Ron had in the past four months.

_Now that's what I call irony._

_Maybe he's right. Maybe Harry and Ron don't care anymore._

_Merlin, don't talk like that. Of course they care._

Hermione was not so sure.

She didn't realize they had arrived at the stone gargoyle guarding the stairwell until Malfoy asked her for the password.

"Pistachio," she mumbled just loudly enough for the sentry to hear. The door slid open and they ascended. At the top of the stair, Hermione extended one hand a knocked on the door. There was no answer.

"Fantastic," muttered Malfoy.

"Don't be impatient. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy here to use the Floo," she spoke clearly this time to make sure the door heard her properly. It swung open revealing Professor McGonagall's office. She had arranged for Hermione to have access to the fireplace if she was not present.

Malfoy carried her over to the Floo, but did not set her down. "Take a handful of Floo powder," he said.

"Can two people Floo at once?" she asked.

"We're about to find out."

She threw the powder into the fireplace and the flames immediately turned green. "12 Grimmauld Place," they said in unison.

Apparently two people can Floo at once. Malfoy landed with unnatural grace considering he was carrying Hermione. The kitchen was a mess. They'd left in such a hurry last night Hermione hadn't even thought about cleaning up. She wanted to clean it now.

Malfoy, however, read her mind. "Don't be ridiculous, Granger. You can clean it later. Right now you're going to sleep." He left the kitchen and began climbing the stairs.

Normally she would not have stood for being ordered around, especially by Malfoy. Every minute left her more fatigued than the last. She had not had a decent night's sleep since April, and it finally seemed to be catching up to her.

They entered the third door on the second floor. The fire had died in their small bedroom, but the sunlight was pouring in through the open curtain. It did not bother Hermione in the least that she had just referred to it as 'their room,' not 'his room'. She didn't know why, and, frankly, she was too tired to analyze it.

He laid her down on her bed. She kicked her trainers off and he pulled the blankets out from underneath her and draped them over her body. With a flick of his wand he closed the curtains and brought a roaring fire to life in the hearth. She rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow. It was much softer and much squishier than she remembered. But it had been a long time since she'd used it. Any sleep she got was usually spent in whichever chair she had been reading in that night.

Malfoy sat on the edge of his bed and watched her. He looked worried, or at least his eyes did. Other than a slight frown that tugged at his lips, his face betrayed no emotion.

Maybe the lack of sleep was making her crazy, or maybe she did not want him to worry, or maybe she just wanted to, but Hermione extended her hand across the narrow gap between the two twin beds. At first Malfoy looked at it like it might turn into a serpent's head and bite his hand if he tried to touch it, but eventually he took her hand in his. It was warm and calloused. She smiled, remembering the way it felt on her cheek.

"Thank you for not leaving me there," she said sleepily.

If he responded, Hermione didn't hear him. She was already fast asleep.

* * *

Normal procedure under normal circumstances was to wait until nightfall before approaching the cabin. Unless Severus had business with the Dark Lord to attend to, he was almost always there. But these were not normal circumstances.

As soon as the hawk arrived, he knew something was amiss. He perched on the lowest bough of a very tall evergreen and surveyed his surrounding suspiciously. The cabin was dark and the front door was broken in. He could not pick up Severus' scent anywhere – the wind had all but erased any trace of it.

A tawny owl landed on the branch above him and uttered a lonely hoot. He stared at the larger bird with keen cobalt eyes. The owl's head swiveled towards the abandoned cabin and back to the hawk. He cawed loudly; the owl hooted again and flew off eastward.

That Severus' owl did not know what happened bothered the hawk. This whole thing bothered him. Not wanting to wait until sunset, he flew down and through the front door. He metamorphosed as he landed. Where a black hawk was, a man now stood.

He observed the inside with the same alert eyes the hawk had scrutinized the outside. There were charred logs and ashes in the fireplace that looked, and smelled, to have been cold for several days. The bedroom door was off its hinges as well, and someone had gone through the desk.

He strode over to the desk. Two of the drawers were open and the chair had been overturned. He set it on all fours and sat down to go through the desk. He knew what he was looking for, he just wasn't sure where in the desk it was kept. After searching all four drawers, he concluded that the black letter box was indeed gone. That meant one of two things: Severus Snape was dead or his cover was blown.

He sincerely hoped it was the latter, although for crossing Lord Voldemort, he might wish he was dead if Death Eaters caught him.

If he was still alive, Severus would contact him.

He would return to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley to ensure they stayed out of trouble. No one knew what might be waiting for them at Tullynally, the least he could do was keep an eye on things.

* * *

Hermione was not the sort of sleeper who lingered on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, semi-aware but blissfully ignorant at the same time. When she was awake, she was awake. Her eyes popped open.

It was late afternoon, or at least it felt like late afternoon. She couldn't be sure as the curtains were drawn. She was still in the same position she fell asleep in. Malfoy was asleep in the other bed, on his side as well, facing Hermione. Their hands were still clasped in the space between. She was surprised that he hadn't removed left her as soon as she was asleep.

Hermione did not dream. About anything. She could have cried in relief.

Careful not to wake Malfoy, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. She extracted her hand from his and laid it on his pillow next to his face. Her wand was still in her back pocket, and she took it out and rekindled the fire. She tip-toed across the room and exited, closing the door softly behind her.

She padded down the hall to the bathroom to take a shower. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt alright. She was relatively rested, and the aches that had accompanied her training yesterday were gone. The house was a little chill, but it was nothing a steamy shower and a sweater would not remedy.

Clean, refreshed, and starving, Hermione went to her old room to dress. The door to their bedroom was still closed, so she assumed Malfoy was still sleeping. She put on another pair of slightly baggy jeans, though these did not have holes, and a pale green sweater. Over her thick wool socks, she tugged on her boots. She dried her hair using her wand and went down stairs to make something to eat.

As she approached the kitchen door she heard raised voices. One was Malfoy's and the she recognized as Molly Weasley's. Hermione rushed into the kitchen to find Malfoy with his hands in the air looking angrier than she had ever seen him. His wand was on the floor at her feet. Mrs. Weasley had her wand aimed at Malfoy in one hand and was brandishing a rather large chocolate cake in the other.

"Mrs. Weas-"

"Ah, Hermione, be a dear and go fetch Remus."

"Granger, tell her to put her wand away," growled Malfoy.

"Mrs. Weasley, please-"

"Be careful not to get too close to him. Dangerous lot, these Death Eaters' children."

Malfoy was looking rather dangerous at the moment, but that was beside the point. Hermione picked up Malfoy's wand.

"Molly!" she shouted, finally gaining the woman's attention. She handed Malfoy back his wand, which he gripped tightly in his hand, should Mrs. Weasley try to hex him. "It's ok. He's supposed to be here. We're partners now."

Mrs. Weasley lowered her wand, but still looked incredulous. Hermione put her hand on Malfoy's arm. "Aren't we, _Draco_?" She hoped he got the hint.

He did. "Yes, _Hermione_."

Mr. Weasley seemed unsure of what to make of the situation. At last she set the cake down on the table and slipped her wand back in her robes' pocket. "I apologize, Draco. I didn't expect to see you here." Malfoy nodded stiffly.

"What's the cake for?" Hermione asked, changing the subject before Mrs. Weasley could ask any questions.

"Oh my," exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. "Remus was right, you do need a holiday."

Hermione blinked. Malfoy snorted.

"It's your birthday today, you silly girl."

"Oh. _Oh._" She had forgotten

_You do need a holiday._

_You didn't remember either._

_We weren't the only ones._

"Well, happy birthday," Mrs. Weasley said as she hurried across the room to envelope Hermione in a bone crushing hug. She noticed Malfoy step aside looking grateful that he wasn't going to have to receive a hug of his own. Finally Mrs. Weasley released her.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. We'll have some of the cake later. We haven't eaten yet."

"Oh, that's fine. I just wanted to make sure someone wished you happy birthday. Remus and Tonks said they have a gift that they'll bring by at the meeting on Sunday. Have you heard from Harry and Ron?" Mrs. Weasley began bustling about the kitchen, cleaning up the spaghetti mess.

"No," Hermione said sheepishly. "Our letters are rather impersonal. Besides they have more important things to worry about than a silly birthday." Malfoy tensed; he did not like anything to do with Harry and Ron.

"Nonsense, child. I'll give them a good talking to as soon as they get back. There's no excuse for forgetting a friend's birthday."

"That's really not necessary."

Mrs. Weasley said nothing. She was finishing up magicking the kitchen clean. "Alright, I suppose I'll see you both Sunday."

"Mrs. Weasley, if you could keep the fact that Ma- Draco and I are partners to yourself, we would really appreciate it. It would be best if Professor Lupin announced it to everyone at once."

"Of course. You two have a good night."

"Thanks again, Mrs. Weasley, you too." Malfoy nodded his adieu.

Mrs. Weasley grabbed a handful of Floo powder and shouted, "The Burrow" before jumping into the green flame.

They were alone again.

"What do you want for dinner?" Hermione asked to fill the silence. She went to the icebox and looked inside. There wasn't really anything that appealed to her. Nor did she particularly feel like cooking. Malfoy was watching her.

"When are you going to admit that they don't give a shit and start thinking about yourself?" he demanded with the faintest trace of hostility.

"I was thinking maybe I'd go get some take away. Do you like pizza? No, I guess you've never had pizza; it's a Muggle thing." She was talking to herself more than him.

"You can't put everything everyone else wants ahead of your self. They're using you, Granger."

"Careful, Malfoy," she said sternly. "Someone might think you care about me."

He said nothing, but she could see his jaw muscles tense from across the room. He was grinding his teeth.

"What would you know about it, anyways? You don't know them and you certainly don't know me."

_Why are you defending them!?_

_Because it's Harry and Ron._

_That's a fantastic reason. Good job. I always knew you were the brightest._

_Shut it._

"I know more about you than you think. I may not understand you, but I'm not blind."

"Enlighten me," she spat.

"I know you are loyal to a fault."

_True._

"I know that not all who have your fidelity deserve it."

_True._

_What? Wait._

"I know you're smart, which you know too, and it's the most annoying thing in the world. I know you're powerful, very powerful, and that you don't know how to use it properly yet." He paused.

Hermione stood in the open icebox staring at Malfoy. He was speaking with such conviction. She didn't know what to say.

"But most importantly, I know you're _angry. _You're angry at Potter and Weasley for leaving you. You're angry at yourself, though I'm not sure why. And right now you're angry at me because I'm telling you the truth."

_True._

_True._

_True._

_Not true._

Hermione was not angry at Malfoy. She felt deflated. Everything he said was right. Too bad the solution was not so simple as cutting Harry and Ron out of her life – even though they'd done it to her easily enough. They would never find the last Horcrux without her, but she couldn't very well tell Malfoy that.

"So what is it you want?" she asked.

"Don't change the subject. We're talking about you, not me. When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?"

"Yule Ball, fourth year." The words just slipped out, "I went with Viktor. Ron was so angry…"

"That's pathetic."

Hermione sighed and shut the icebox door. She was going to freeze the kitchen. "The things I want are small and unimportant in the grand scheme of things."

"Oh, please," spat Malfoy. "Don't feed me that 'this is a war, noble self-sacrifice is mandatory' line. What. Do. You. Want? It can't possibly be to be their go-to girl."

What did she want? He was right – again – she didn't want to be Harry's and Ron's errand girl. But what choice did she have? Lives were at stake.

There had been, however, one thing on her mind every time she looked at him since he had been at Grimmauld Place with her. As soon as the thought entered her head, the voices began screaming their protestations.

_Impulse control!_

_No, no, no, no, no!_

_Don't you even think about it!_

She didn't think about it, she just did it.

Hermione strode purposefully across the room and stopped in front of Malfoy, leaving a scant inch between them. He was looking nervous, like she might attack him again. Instead she reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his face towards her. She stood on her tip-toes, meeting him halfway. Then she kissed him.

It wasn't awkward or sloppy as first kisses so often are. His lips were soft, just like she thought they would be. He just stood there, with their lips pressed together, too stunned to respond. Until she started to pull away.

Then he kissed her back.

Hermione's heart stopped beating in her chest.

After watching her chewing on her lip for so long, Draco gave into the urge he had been suppressing all day. Her lips were soft and sweet on his. She tasted like honey.

He pulled her closer and was far more pleased than he should have been that she allowed him to do so. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself – quite a bit.

At first, he thought he had pushed her too far, but he couldn't stand her passive attitude anymore. Ever since he had been so cursed as to know the Golden Trio, Granger had spent her time bending over backwards for those ungrateful buffoons – doing their homework, saving their lives, devising new and clever ways for them to break the rules.

Actually, if anyone but Potter and Weasley had been involved, he might not have even cared, but there was something about those two idiots taking advantage of Granger that irked him to no end. Someone had to say it, but no one she had contact with ever would. They all worshipped The Boy Who Lived and his loyal lackey. It was disgusting.

Draco saw through them, and Granger was beginning to as well.

He had not, however, planned on punctuating the discussion with a steamy kiss. But there they were, stuck to each other, kissing in the kitchen. The Fates were not without a sense of humor.

Granger was a good kisser. He _liked_ kissing her. Draco was kissing Hermione Granger and he did not – against his brain's better judgment – want it to stop.

As though she read his mind, Granger ended the kiss. Draco opened his eyes. She was studying him unabashedly with no trace of embarrassment or her usual run-for-the-hill reflex.

"How was that for doing what I want?" she asked cheekily.

"Not what I expected," Draco managed to choke out.

"Of course you weren't," she said, sliding her hand down from his neck to rest on his chest. It gave him goosebumps. "I'm going to get some take away, and when I get back we'll start working on becoming Animagi. There isn't much time left before the full moon."

"Alright." She began to walk away, but he caught her wrist. She paused mid-step and twisted her head back to face him.

"Granger?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday."

She smiled a genuine smile, not one that was tired or worried or forced, but a real and amazingly bright. He might just have to give her a reason to smile more often.

"Thank you, Malfoy."

Then she was gone. Draco waited until he heard the front door click shut before heading upstairs to shower, wondering if life would ever stop turning him up on his head.

**A/N:** I'm sorry it took me so long to update, but thank you for being patient and bearing with me. I want to thank rebelangel110192 and lilyandjames for their input with the chapter, as well as everyone who reviewed. Thank you! Please review, I really appreciate you ideas and critiques.


	9. The Meeting

**The Meeting**

Sunday, September 21

The hawk found it mildly ironic that he now sat perched in the self same tree waiting for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley to arrive at Tullynally castle as he had waited for Severus just three months ago. Although he was highly concerned for his friend's well being, he was also relieved that the boys were finally on the right track. He did not know where Granger had come across the castle's ancestry, or why it had taken her so long, but he supposed late was better than never.

Tullynally's presence probably could have been discovered in half the time had Granger been included more directly in the search. It was to her credit alone that the mausoleum in Ipswich had been located so efficiently. Potter's lack of emotional control was to blame for the delay, yet the two boys blamed her. The world made sense again.

For the thousandth time the hawk wished he could make contact, but that was out of the question. Severus had made it abundantly clear that both of their lives would be in even greater jeopardy if anyone discovered their connection. Exceptions were to be made in only the direst of emergencies.

It was not as though Potter and Weasley would trust him anyways, regardless of what line he fed them. However, Granger was far more reasonable. If he could just share with her what he knew, this war would be ended much more quickly. But he trusted Severus implicitly, so he would obey.

About a hundred meters distant, the hawk's sharp hearing picked up two cracks of Apparition. They came from the direction of the castle. He immediately took flight, his keen eyes searching the mostly open countryside for signs of the boys.

They were spotted quickly – Weasley's red mop stuck out like a sore thumb against Ireland's emerald landscape – and were moving excitedly towards the ancient keep. The hawk circled high above, tracking their progress, until at last they entered Tullynally via the front door. He perched on one of many turrets, and waited.

The sun set. There was no sign of their return. He grew concerned, but maintained his vigil. There was little else he could do.

* * *

Draco was nervous and exhausted – never a good combination. He and Granger had been working relentlessly for two days, with almost nothing to show for it. Despite the detailed instructions he had received from her concerning the use of wandless magic, Draco had done nothing more than make a quill quiver. Granger was not having much more luck, either. She claimed to have been close once or twice, but nothing had come of it.

And Granger's over all placidity was downright infuriating. For hours on end she had remained in her corner of the attic, surrounded by their stack of notes, muttering incantations under her breath. Draco felt like a caged animal.

He didn't understand how she could behave as though nothing had happened. They had kissed, and she had apparently put it behind her before she made it back with their dinner. Draco, on the other hand, was still trying to get his head around what happened. Regardless of how many times he replayed the argument over in his head, he could see no other reason for her actions but that she had actually been listening to him. Granger kissed him because she had wanted to – pure and simple.

And that terrified Draco.

On top of everything else, the Order of the Phoenix was meeting in two hours, and he knew his welcome would be less than warm. He was grateful Granger would be there. For some reason he felt as though they were in it together, that she would get as much shit as he would. It was a comforting thought, in a strange sort of way.

Feeling twitchy, Draco jumped up off the floor and began pacing the length of the attic for what seemed like the hundredth time. Granger's eyes were closed in concentration, but she recognized the signs of his discomfort nonetheless.

"Malfoy, sit down," she said without opening her eyes. "You're driving me crazy, prowling about like that."

"_I'm_ driving _you_ crazy?"

"That's what I said."

Draco continued pacing, further annoyed by her nonchalant attitude. Anything he might say threatened to leave his mouth at very high volumes, so he kept it shut.

"Oh, honestly, Malfoy," she said after a moment, "it's just a meeting. I've been to a dozen of them, and I promise they never last more than a half-hour."

"I am hardly concerned with the duration of the meeting," he snapped. "It's the number of wands being pointed at me underneath the table that worries me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't be naive."

Sighing exasperatedly, she stood and brushed off her backside. "I'm never going to get any work done at this rate. Stop pacing and come help me make dinner."

Draco grudgingly followed her out of the room and down the stairs. Even though he had little intention of helping cook dinner, a change of scenery might distract him…hopefully.

In the kitchen, Draco seated himself at the table while Granger went straight for the icebox. She came out with an armful of ingredients and tapped the door shut with her foot. She shot him a look that said, "Oh, get over it," before dumping the food on the counter.

"Brooding and sullen are really more Harry than you," she said.

"I resent that," he said severely. If she was trying to put him in a better mood, comparing him to Potter was hardly the way to go about it.

"Make yourself useful, and chop this onion for me," she said, ignoring him.

"Do you have any idea how irritating you are?"

"You're no stroll down the boardwalk."

Draco glared at the back of her head, boring icy holes into it with his eyes, before whipping out his wand and firing a spell at the onion in question. It jumped up in the air and landed in a neat pile of chopped pieces on the counter. Granger sighed. For some reason she liked cooking – and cleaning - like a Muggle. He would never understand it.

"You hardly know me, Granger," he said argumentatively.

Turning around to face him with a large bowl in her arms she said, "So tell me."

"What?" he asked incredulously. He had heard what she said; he just wanted to make sure he understood her properly. What could she possibly want to know about him?

"Do you need your hearing checked? I said, tell me about yourself."

Draco surveyed her coolly, debating whether or not that was a road either one of them really wanted to traverse. Knowledge was power, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to give her anymore than she already had. Besides, a discussion about him would inevitably lead to a discussion about her, and he did not want to know her. Knowing her meant that he could like her, and he was positive that would be a bad thing. Caring for someone other than himself had alienated him from life-long friends, set his father against him, forced his mother to suffer, and his mentor to sacrifice himself for Draco. What would happen if he and Granger became friends? Or even just non-enemies? He did not want to think about it.

He met Granger's expectant gaze; she was in earnest. "What do you want to know?" he muttered.

She turned back to the counter and resumed mashing the contents of the bowl. There was a longish pause while she considered her answer. Draco was growing impatient when she responded.

"Where have you been since…well, since?"

"Here and there," he said vaguely. "Wherever Snape told me to go. I never stayed anywhere for more than two weeks."

"Were you alone?" she said slowly. Upending the bowl, a large lump of heavy dough tumbled onto the counter. She removed a ceramic pie plate and an iron skillet from a cupboard, and placed both items on the stove. Several pieces of bacon were levitated onto the griddle and she used her wand to flatten the dough and place it in the pie plate.

Draco watched her. He found the art of cooking fascinating because he had never really seen it done until his stay at Grimmauld Place began. House elves had always seen to the meals at his childhood home, as well as at Hogwarts, and while he was on the run he ate what he could get his hands on. Granger liked cooking, and he liked watching Granger, so all in all it was a rewarding experience. Except for the whole having to talk to each other bit.

He was also stalling. He was not sure where this conversation was heading, and Granger had proven several times already just how full of surprises she really was. Draco's nerves were already set on edge; he didn't think they could handle trying to predict her behavior.

"Yeah," he answered tentatively, "for the most part."

She flipped the bacon with a fork, still keeping her back to him. Draco wished he could read her facial expression.

"I'm sorry," she whispered so softly he wasn't sure if he heard it.

"Don't be," Draco snapped. He did not want her pity.

Granger shook her head, causing her brown curls to ripple and sway down her back. Silently she began chopping a chunk of cheese into small cubes. He couldn't see her face, but he could picture her expression: frowning slightly with her brow furrowed.

Draco felt something nasty leak into his belly like a cheap glass of wine, with out the warmth of alcohol. It was cold, sickly guilt. He could count on one hand the number of times he had felt guilty. But that tiny voice – the one he usually tried to ignore – was telling him that she did not pity him; she was empathizing.

Restlessly, he stood and leaned against the counter a few feet down from her workspace. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and his legs at the ankles. She was making him feel awkward again and he hated it. He hated how he still did not know how to act around her at times.

Granger removed the bacon to a napkin and added the onion he'd blasted to cook in the fats. Finally she said, "It's your turn now. Ask me something."

Draco considered. There were so many things he wanted to know. First on the list was what happened with Potter, but she probably would not answer. She always evaded that one. He also wanted to know what happened in the hospital Friday morning. It was so bizarre and he doubted if she knew herself. He was pretty sure he knew the answer to the next question, but he wanted to hear her say it.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Her only reaction was a slight intake of breath that would not have been noticed by someone who was not looking for it. She continued preparing their dinner, crumbling the bacon onto the crust and adding a handful of cheese. She gave the onions a good stir.

"I should think that was rather obvious," she said. "Because I wanted to."

Draco's heart lurched uncomfortably in his chest. For once, being right did not bear the same sense of victory it usually did.

"Why?" he asked.

A sly smile played at the corner of her mouth. "Why did you kiss me back?"

Draco gave a short laugh at the unlikelihood of his honest response. "Because I wanted to."

Granger continued smiling, but with less sly and more sweet, as though she was genuinely pleased with his answer.

"Get me three eggs from the 'box, will you?" she said.

Draco did as she asked, grateful for something to do. When he handed them off, their hands brushed briefly, making his skin tingle all the way up his arm and down his back. She felt it too; he witnessed the slight shiver chase up her spine.

"It's good to know you heed your own advice," she said with a teasing tone in her voice. Her brown eyes were sparkling, the little flecks of gold glittering brightly.

Draco smirked. If she only knew how much time he spent _not_ doing what he wanted, suppressing urges and the like. For instance, right then he wanted to plunge both of his hands into her hair and feel the soft curls slip between his fingers.

"So, how did it feel, doing something for yourself?" he said, steering the conversation away from himself.

"Fantastic," she replied without hesitation. "I don't know why I hadn't tried it sooner."

Draco chuckled at Granger's enthusiasm. "Because you are the least selfish person I've ever known," he said. The compliment slipped from his tongue before he could think better of it. Draco sat back down, made suddenly uncomfortable by her proximity. He could not remember the last time he had complimented someone and mean it.

Much to his disquiet, Draco was finding it more and more difficult to control his self around Granger. He did not want to ponder what it meant. In five short days many of his strongest opinions regarding his newly appointed partner had been reversed. Draco had never known her as anything more than Harry Potter's surrogate brain and a Mudblood, and he wondered what changed. He wanted to blame it on his subconscious being grateful for the company, but he knew it was more than that. Nothing was ever that simple, he just couldn't put his finger on it either. Perhaps he did not want to put his finger on it.

While Draco was lost in his thoughts, Granger had finished preparing the meal and was just closing the oven door. She set a kitchen timer.

"I'm going to take a quick shower. If the timer goes before I get back, will you take the quiche out?"

Draco nodded and Granger departed with a smile, leaving him once more to his musings.

* * *

If his sense of time was accurate, it was after nine o'clock, and Potter and Weasley still had not made an appearance. The hawk had only left his grey stone perch to occasionally lap the castle, insuring the boys had not exited by another door. It was unclear what trials lay inside Tullynally castle, but it was not a good sign that it was taking so long to recover the wand of Rowena Ravenclaw. They had entered almost twelve hours ago, and the hawk wondered if he should enter himself, or go for help.

Landing on the ground in front of the door, a shimmer came over the hawk and it morphed into a stocky man with dark skin and curly black hair. Anxiety was an uncommon state for him, and he raked a calloused hand roughly through his hair. Severus had told him several times that he would have done well in Slytherin, but he could not help being concerned, especially for Potter. So much was riding on his success. It was a shame he had so little control over himself.

Suddenly, an unearthly barking assaulted his ears. As soon as the raucous began, the large door in front of him, as well as all of the windows, disappeared to be replaced with the same smooth, heavy stone that comprised the rest of the castle. The hounds were loosed and the exits sealed.

He felt a short-lived surge of relief at the sound of at least one of the boys firing a spell somewhere within the depths of the castle. They were alive, but would not remain so for long without aid. Without hesitation, he Disapparated.

An instant later, he arrived silently behind the house which was three doors down from twelve Grimmauld Place. He transformed back into the hawk; he could enter undetected thought the library window he knew Granger always left open for any arriving owls.

He alighted softly on the floor and became a man once more. He was surprised to hear several voices filtering in through the closed door. There must be a meeting tonight, which meant he would need to be extra careful here. He waited at the door, insuring the corridor was clear, before making his way down the stairs and to the meeting room down the hall from the kitchen.

He called upon all of his powers and abilities to remain unnoticed as he slipped into the crowded and noisy room.

* * *

The meeting would begin shortly, and Hermione could not help but feel a bit nervous for Malfoy. She knew that they were quite possibly walking into the lions' den, but at least it was not a den of Death Eater lions. Most of the Order members were very reasonable people who had faith in their leaders. It had taken some time, but Lupin and McGonagall had proven themselves worth of their positions. Hopefully the others would respect their decision concerning Malfoy.

At the moment, Hermione was heading upstairs to retrieve Malfoy. Dinner had been a strained and silent affair, after which he had retired to their room to hide from the arriving members until the last possible minute. Unfortunately for him, that minute had come.

She knocked softly on the door and when she received no response, entered. Malfoy was standing in front of the window – which he had opened – staring out into the night. His arms were crossed on his chest and she could tell by the set of his jaw that it was clenched tight. His tenseness permeated the room as thoroughly as the cold air pouring in through the window.

He looked like he might fly apart, so she approached him cautiously. "Malfoy, it's time," she said softly.

His body, if it were possible, tensed further at her words, but he remained silent.

"It's really not going to be as bad as you think," she said, hoping she sounded encouraging and not patronizing.

"That's easy for you to say," he snapped, still looking out the window. "You're not walking into a roomful of people who want to crucify you."

Hermione huffed and forcibly spun him around to face her. To the casual observer, Malfoy looked angry enough to rip someone's head clean off their shoulders. That's not what Hermione saw. She saw anxiety bordering on panic shining in his eyes. It really had not taken her long to recognize the subtle gradations of Malfoy's facial expressions.

Hermione reached up and placed a hand on each of his cheeks forcing him to look at her. His skin was icy cold from the open window, but was warming quickly under her hands. She felt his jaw relax.

"I will not let that happen," she said confidently. "Have some faith in me."

She let her hands fall down to his biceps where she gave a firm squeeze, trying to impart some of her confidence to him. His muscles felt like coiled steel under his skin.

Finally he gave a small sigh and said, "Let's just get this over with."

Hermione flashed him a reassuring smile and placed a chaste peck on his soft lips. She hadn't meant to do it, but she couldn't stop herself. He had looked as though he needed it, and she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity. His body did seem to relax a bit.

They left the room together. He followed her so closely he almost collided with her when she stopped at the end of the hall and turned to him.

Whispering, she said, "Ok, let me handle this. And try to keep your temper." He nodded curtly. "Oh, and under no circumstances, whatsoever, should you eat _anything_ either of the Weasley twins might give you."

Hermione opened the door, then, and entered. The usual low murmur of conversation continued as though she weren't there until Malfoy crossed the threshold. Fred and George noticed him first. They jumped from their seats, wands raised. Hermione stepped in front of him, unconsciously shielding him with her body.

"Oi!" they shouted simultaneously.

"What's that…"

"slimy git…"

"doing here?"

Mrs. Weasley swatted the nearest one. "Sit down and put those away!" she ordered, shooting them a death glare. They complied, but never took their eyes off of Malfoy.

Hermione led Malfoy towards the back of the room where they stood against the wall to Remus' left. Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Moody were seated directly in front of them. Professor McGonagall was sitting on Remus' right, and Dedalus Diggle and three other members stood between them and the table, partially blocking them from view. There people standing in clusters on the opposite side of the room. Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur occupied the other side of the table. Hermione smiled at Mrs. Weasley, thanking her for her intervention with the twins.

Lupin stood, calling attention to himself and away from the two partners. The buzz of voices died as he spoke.

"Good evening, everyone. I suppose I should begin the meeting by announcing that Minerva and I have decided that Draco Malfoy should be made a member, with Albus' blessing. Mind we have both given the matter much thought, and hope that you respect our decision."

Lupin's declaration was met with a moment of silence followed by almost everyone in the room speaking at once. Only those who knew of Malfoy's presence beforehand remained silent. Hermione was shocked and disappointed by her comrades' behavior. She had expected objections and some hard questions, but never the uproar she was witnessing.

Perhaps she was a bit naïve. Perhaps Malfoy knew more about her than she gave him credit for.

She looked up at Malfoy to see his reaction, but someone caught her eye. At the front of the room, the door opened silently and a man of average height with curly black hair, deeply tanned skin and azure eyes slipped in undetected. He wore black leather pants that were well worn and a loose black cotton shirt. The billowy sleeves were buttoned at the wrists and the top two buttons undone revealing a circular tattoo just beneath the dip of his collarbone. A heavy traveling cloak was fastened about his shoulders.

He was stunning and mysterious, and no one else seemed to notice his entrance. He was the man from Snape's memories. Hermione could almost hear his deep, thickly accented voice in her ears.

She grasped Malfoy's wrist and their eyes met. He nodded slightly; he had seen the man too. They both looked back to the man. A flicker of recognition passes across his face when his eyes fell upon them. He raised an index finger to his lips, signally for silence. Then he stepped back into the shadow cast by a large china nook near the door that no longer held anything at all.

Hermione's attention was drawn away from the stranger by what sounded like one or both of the twins yelling above the tumult.

"He's a Death Eater spy!"

"He most certainly is not!" Hermione impulsively shouted harshly at the top of her lungs. Somehow her normally soft voice carried over the din and soon every eye in the room was focused on her. She gave Malfoy's wrist another quick squeeze before releasing it. The men in front of her parted so the others could see her more clearly.

"_Draco_," she said, putting emphasis on his given name as she had with Mrs. Weasley, "and I are partners, and I assure you he is neither a Death Eater or a spy. I trust him, and if nothing else you should trust my judgment. He wants to help, and every one of you knows that we are in no position to be turning away volunteers."

Hermione paused, letting her words sink in. It was not necessary that the others accept Malfoy, as the decision was already official, but it would certainly make things easier. Finally Molly spoke up. She always did have a soft spot for 'lost boys'.

"Oh, give him a chance," she declared. Arthur nodded his agreement beside her. Moody, Tonks, Lupin and McGonagall all remained silent.

Kingsley Shacklebolt straightened in his seat, and his deep voice carried a note of authority. "And if he does double-cross us, we have enough evidence to put him in Azkaban for a long time."

The statement, Hermione knew, was meant to be less of a reassurance to the Order, and more of a threat to Malfoy, even though the Auror did not address him directly. Nevertheless, his words did have a desirable effect. One by one the Order members seemed to accept that Malfoy was there to stay.

Hermione sighed with relief. One battle was won, now she just had to convince Harry and Ron not to murder him. Malfoy stood a little closer and whispered in her ear. She bit her lip and tried not to shiver at the sensation of his breath on her neck.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, trying to sound disaffected, but Hermione knew he was grateful.

She looked into his silver eyes and smiled. "Yes, I did. And you're welcome."

He rolled his eyes, but did not move away. Every time their elbows brushed Hermione got a tingly feeling in her stomach, like she drank champagne too quickly.

The meeting really did pass rather quickly, not that Hermione was paying much attention. The reports were always the same: The Ministry was even more unwilling to help, more people have been murdered or have disappeared, recruiting was not going so well, etc. Malfoy's presence did not make it any easier to concentrate, either.

Hermione had other things on her mind, too. Like where the man from Snape's memories got off to. Try as she might, not the barest glimpse of him could be found. She was sure she had not seen the door open, or him leave, but could not find him for the life of her. It was as though he had simply vanished.

Before they knew it, the meeting was over. Many members exited quickly, needing to return to their lives, jobs, or assignments as quickly as possible. Malfoy was one of those people. He had his trademark, stony façade which she had grown so accustomed to seeing while they were in school on his face, but she could tell he was relieved the ordeal was over.

"I'm going up to our room," he said so only she could hear.

Hermione noted that he also referred to the tiny bedroom as 'theirs'. "I'll be up as soon as I can," she replied. He nodded and left.

Tonks and Lupin approached Hermione as Malfoy stalked from the room. Tonks punched her sparring partner playfully on the shoulder.

"So, everything goin' alright with my only cousin?"

Hermione thought for a moment how best to respond. She smiled softly.

"Being with Malfoy is like reading a book for the second time. The story is the same, you just notice more of the details."

"Poetic," teased Tonks.

Remus smiled and withdrew a narrow box from his robes' pocket. It was wrapped in royal blue paper with a silver bow on top.

"Happy birthday, Hermione. I hope you like it," he said genuinely.

"You guys really didn't have to," she said, slitting the Spell-o-tape with a fingernail. Removing the paper and opening the box she saw there was a leather harness of some sort inside.

"It's a holster for your wand," Tonks explained excitedly. "If you need to fight or use wandless, you have a safe place to keep your wand."

Hermione smiled brightly and hugged each of them fondly. "Thank you so much. It's a wonderful gift."

Tonks helped her buckle it onto her right forearm and showed her how it worked.

"When you want your wand all you have to do is flick you wrist back, and the catch releases it right into your hand."

"Really, thank you," she repeated, truly pleased with the gift. After all, it was the only thing she received besides the kiss she had stolen from Malfoy in the kitchen and Mrs. Weasley's cake.

"Well," Lupin said, throwing an arm around Tonks' shoulders, "we really must be off. We'll see you sometime this week, Hermione."

"Goodnight," she said as they walked away.

Hermione was about to head upstairs when she noticed a paper airplane gliding towards her, much like the memo-planes in the Ministry of Magic. She did not know yet who sent it, and none of the remaining members seemed to notice it. It hovered in front of her face, waiting for her to snatch it up and unfold it. In an elegant script she did not recognize the note said:

_Study. Now. Bring Malfoy._

It was unsigned, but Hermione knew it was from him.

She rushed upstairs, taking the two at a time and burst into their bedroom. Malfoy jumped out of the chair and whipped his wand out, ready to hex.

"Shite, Granger," he swore. "I thought you were one of those bloody twins."

Hermione ignored him. "He's waiting for us, right now, in the study." She proffered the crumpled note in her hand as evidence.

Malfoy read it. "What could he want from us?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hermione replied excitedly, "but he recognized both of us during the meeting. I think we should go."

He seemed unconvinced.

"What if it's important?" she pled. "Besides, you can't tell me you're not dying to know more about him."

Hermione was becoming very excited. This man was a complete mystery, and she wanted to solve him. There were so many questions; she thought her head might explode with them. He had also been asked to keep an eye on Harry and Ron. Perhaps he had news.

"Alright," Malfoy agreed grudgingly. "But we need to be careful. Just because he was a friend of Snape, doesn't mean he's a friend of ours."

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm excited, not an idiot, Malfoy."

"You're also dangerously impulsive."

"I resent that."

"Then prove me wrong."

"Come on then," she said impatiently, "I don't want him to leave."

Together they walked side-by-side up the stairs to the third floor. When they reached the door, each drew their wands. Swiftly, Hermione swung the door inward and they both burst into the room, ready to hex.

The man was seated on the desk facing them with his stocky legs dangling over the edge. He had helped himself to the bar, and held a glass of something clear – gin, maybe? – in his hands. His face was shrewd and calculating with a hint of amusement at their entrance.

"It's about damn time," he said in his compellingly deep Scottish accent. "We need to leave. Now."

Malfoy snorted. He was not keen on going anywhere with a perfect stranger. Neither was Hermione for that matter, though she was a touch surprised by his greeting.

"Who _are_ you?" she demanded. Her wand, as well as Malfoy's, was still aimed at his chest.

"I am Absalom."


	10. Trapped

**A/N:Ah! In my haste to post this, I forgot to mention what a brilliantly wonderful and amazing beta Lyr942 is! She puts up with my horrendous typos and the like, making my life much easier.**

**Thank you, all of you who reviewed! It means worlds to me that you took the time :)**

**"The Beast Within" has been nominated for a Dramione Award on LiveJournal in the "School's Out" category! beams Go show some love!

* * *

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**Trapped**

Sunday, September 21

"It's about damn time," the man said in his compellingly deep Scottish accent. "We need to leave. Now."

Draco snorted. They still had their wands trained on his chest, but he seemed unfazed.

"Who _are_ you?" Hermione demanded from his side.

"I am Absalom."

The name was unfamiliar to Draco, and a quick glance at Granger's face told him that she did not recognize it either.

"Right, fantastic," Draco said sarcastically, "Whenever you're ready, then."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What my partner meant to say is why should we trust you? Other than your name and that you were friends with Snape, we know nothing about you."

Absalom cocked his head in Granger's direction, much resembling his Animagus form. _"Were?_"

Frowning, Hermione asked, "When was the last time you spoke with Snape?"

"Last Sunday night, around ten."

Draco felt his face twist into a scowl and an uncomfortably tight feeling wrap itself around his chest. "He was dead by midnight that night," he said, his voice thick. The past two days had been so full that Draco had hardly had time to think about his dearly departed Potions professor. This new sudden reminder brought back a lot of memories.

Grief and concern flickered across Absalom's face, which was definitely a shade paler than a moment before. He knocked back what remained of his drink, not even grimacing as the alcohol washed down his throat.

"We're sorry," Granger spoke for both of them, "we know you were friends."

He set his glass down and hopped off of the desk. "We really must be going now. Enough time has already been wasted."

"We're not going anywhere until you tell us why," Draco told him.

"Because if you don't, Potter and Weasley, barring some incredible stoke of luck, will be dead by dawn."

It did not sound like such a terrible thing to Draco, and he was about to say so, when Granger interrupted. All of the blood had left her face, and she had lowered her wand. Of course she would be on the edge of a freak out; Boy Wonder and Weasel-by's lives were in danger.

"They're in? Do they have it?" she whispered.

"They've been in for twelve hours. As to whether or not they have it, I couldn't say. I would like to think they do."

"Is it vampires again?" Granger asked.

Absalom shook his head. "No, Slytherin's hounds."

If it was possible, she blanched further. Draco watched, both curious and annoyed. He was being dragged into something again, but this time he was most definitely out of the loop.

"Anyone care to tell me what the hell you two are going on about?"

"You're right," she said, ignoring him. "We have wasted enough time. Make a Portkey."

Absalom nodded, glad to have convinced her to join him, and began searching for a suitable item. Draco, however, was not so easily persuaded.

"Speak for yourself, Granger," he hissed. "I'm not about to stick my neck out for Potter and Weasley, and frankly they don't deserve you putting yours out there either."

She wheeled on him, surprising him with her intensity. Her chocolate eyes were on fire. "Listen, Malfoy. I know you hate them and yes, you were right, I am angry with them. In fact, I am angrier with them than I have ever been with anyone, ever, but that is beside the point."  
"What _is_ the point then?" Draco interrupted. "Because everything you just said seems like excellent reasons to stay home tonight."

"Do you remember that Boy-Who-Lived, Chosen One spiel that we denied, and denied, and denied all through school? Well, we lied. It's true, all of it. There's a prophecy and everything. If Harry doesn't make it out of that castle – alive and carrying what he went in for – we might as well throw in the towel now. He is the _only_ one who can defeat Voldemort."

By the time she finished, her chest was heaving and the blood had most definitely returned to her face. Draco was trying to absorb what she had just told him. He had never really believed in the whole Chosen One bit; he had just enjoyed annoying Potter. It was a difficult pill to swallow, accepting that the future of the world rested on Potter's clumsy shoulders. It crossed his mind that she was trying to trick him into going with her, but he quickly discarded the idea after searching her impassioned expression. If nothing else, she believed what she said.

Absalom returned with a half-used candle and turned it into a Portkey. "Are you two love birds done bickering yet?"

Hermione extended her hand, and he eyed it warily. Draco could not believe that he was going to rush headlong into a potentially life-threatening situation for no reason other than the fact that she asked him to.

_How very Gryffindor_.

With an exasperated sigh, he grasped her hand. "Fine, but you owe me one, Granger."

"Let's just call us square."

"From three," Absalom said as they joined him at the desk. He counted down to one and all three of them touched the candle at the same moment. Immediately, they vanished from Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Hermione, Malfoy and the ever-mysterious Absalom reappeared directly in front of Tullynally castle. It towered above them, gleaming eerily in the moonlight. She could hear the cursed hounds barking hollowly from inside. Her insides squirmed and she unconsciously squeezed Malfoy's hand, which was still in hers. 

He squeezed back. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he muttered.

Hermione ignored him and addressed Absalom. "How do we get in?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "The doors and windows disappeared 'bout the same time the barking began."

Hermione caught her bottom lip beneath a tooth. They were waiting for her to figure out a way in. She released Malfoy's hand and walked closer to the castle's smooth façade, stopping where she reckoned the door should have been.

She thought for a moment. Considering blood was necessary to access the cave where Harry found the false locket, as well as the mausoleum in Ipswich, Hermione figured it was worth a shot. Flicking her wand out of her new holster, she pointed it at her palm and cast a slicing charm. She hissed at the sharp pain as her blood pooled black in her hand. Malfoy and Absalom drew up on either side of her to see what she was doing.

The stone was like a sheet of ice beneath her skin as she smeared the wall with her blood. It began to shimmer, revealing a large door-shaped gap in the otherwise flawless stone. They entered.

If the exterior was creepy, the interior was like something out of a nightmare. The walls and floor were made of dark obsidian, making the corridor they were in appear interminably long. Every few meters on both sides of the hall white marble serpents' heads protruded as if striking out at trespassers. An orb of bright green flame was suspended from each maw, illuminating the passageway. The effect was chilling.

As soon as they were inside the entrance sealed behind them. Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel the adrenaline building in her blood like a drug. Yet, she was amazingly clear headed. Their task was set before them; they only needed to figure how best to go about completing it.

Absalom broke the silence that had descended over the trio. "I can't tell where the barking is coming from with the echo."

"I can't either," Hermione replied distractedly. There was something else she was hearing. It was underneath the noise, reverberating through the floor, the deep rumbling barely discernable. It was growing louder, the vibrations stronger.

"Do you guys hear that?"

No sooner had the words left her mouth the floor lurched, pitching Hermione and Draco to the dusty ground. Absalom maintained his footing, but only because he steadied himself on the wall. The entire corridor began swinging to the left, shortening before their very eyes. Some of the intersecting passageways disappeared while new ones appeared. They were now in a completely different hall, even though they had not moved a single step.

Hermione's heart sank.

"What the hell was that," Malfoy griped. He stood and brushed himself off; his white shirt was smeared with ancient dirt. Hermione's burgundy shirt and jeans were also filthy, but she really could not have cared less. There were more pressing matters at hand.

"The halls are like the stair cases in Gryffindor tower, except these are meant to trap us inside instead of allowing students to reach their dormitories," she explained. "It's an impressive bit of magic, really. Voldemort must have done it himself."

"I'm glad it meets your approval," Malfoy snapped, "but it hardly helps us get out of here."

"We need to come up with a plan," Absalom added, "or we're not going to be any help to anyone."

"We could try the Point Me spell," Hermione suggested. "Though, I don't know if it works on people – or moving targets."

"Well, get on with it." Draco was getting agitated. She did not blame him; they were in a tough spot - one he had been reluctant to get into in the first place.

Laying her wand flat on her palm, she muttered the spell under he breath. At first it did nothing, but then it began spinning in lazy, counterclockwise circles. She sighed.

"Either they're running in circles around us, or the spell isn't working."

Silence fell between them for a moment. Each was contemplating their predicament. Hermione felt her anxiety grow with each passing second.

"Do you think you would be able to track them if you were to transform into the hawk?" she asked Absalom.

He shook his head. "No, the hawk hunts primarily with its eyes. The hallways rob me of my advantage. If I were a mammal, say a canine or a feline, I might be able to help…"

Hermione looked at Malfoy, who was already shaking his head. He had guessed what was in her head almost before she thought it.

"I can do it, Malfoy."

"No, you can't."

"Don't ever tell me I can't do something. It just makes me want to prove you wrong."

"You've never done it before and I hardly think _now_ is the time to practice," he argued, not willing to give up.

"You're wasting more time by bickering with me about it," she retorted, snapping her wand into its holster.

Absalom, who had caught on quickly, took Hermione's side. "Right before the transformation takes over, you will feel like you are made of water. As soon as you feel it, focus on it until it consumes your whole body."

Hermione looked at Draco one last time before closing her eyes to concentrate. His face was stoic - an expression she realized he removed only when they were alone together – but she could see traces of fear and anger in his eyes.

_You can do this, Hermione._

Forcing her mind and body to relax, she began reciting the Latin words she had memorized in the past two days over and over in her head. After a minute, which seemed like an hour, an image flashed though her head, mingling with the spell, binding itself to the words. A great snowy leopard sat regally, bathing its shaggy paws. Its striped tail twitched at its side. Hermione felt as though she was staring into its eyes – her eyes.

Suddenly, her belly felt as though it was being filled with gelatin rather than organs. Her excitement sparked. Following Absalom's advice, Hermione embraced the sensation, giving it all of her attention. It was spreading, slowly, and she unconsciously sent forth a tendril of magic to speed things along. With the extra power she was putting into the spell, it really was not long at all before the transformation hit her, crashing into her body like ocean waves against a cliff.

The metamorphosis took her breath away. It had been much more intense than she had anticipated. Hopefully the overwhelming feeling would diminish as she mastered the process. After the jelly-like sensation passed, Hermione opened her eyes. She was looking up at the two men who, in appearance were complete opposites but, had similar expressions of disbelief on their faces.

Hermione peered down at herself and was most pleased to see a chest and forelegs covered in winter white fur with large, grayish-black spots. Her paws were massive and her retractable claws were razor sharp. A long, striped tail flicked back and forth on the ground next to her. It was strange, like having an extra limb that had a mind of its own. On the whole, it was all very surreal.

Hermione's senses were heightened far beyond her expectations. Her vision was sharper, clearer, more defined; her eyes made better use of what little light there was. Her ears were more finely tuned to her surroundings, making her hyperaware. Everything she heard – Draco's and Absalom's breathing, the hounds in the distance – was acute, though not necessarily louder.

She was ecstatic. She had become an Animagus, and it had only taken her two days. Had she been on two legs, not four, she would probably have been jumping up and down in a very girly fashion.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Most impressive, Granger, really, but do you think you could do something besides stare at us? I like this place less and less the longer I'm here."

Hermione could not agree more, and Absalom was hardly about to object. He did not appear to be nervous or fearful, but rather severe. This man did not play games, and while he might have been impressed with Hermione's transformation, he was not one to waste time.

With a sniff, Hermione eased off her haunches and began trotting down the corridor. She liked being a cat. Her movements were sure and graceful; she could get used to it. Sirius had once mentioned that he loved being that large, shaggy, black dog, but she had never understood it until now.

Hermione allowed her ears and her instincts guide her through one eerie corridor after another. Malfoy and Absalom followed silently, keeping up with the brisk pace. Her sense of smell picked up no scent other than the stale air; Harry and Ron had not been in this hallway.

After a few minutes, the same low rumbling vibrated up Hermione's four legs. The passageways were preparing to shift again. She stopped and braced herself, splaying her legs and lowering he center of gravity, just in time. Draco and Absalom were not so lucky; they both tumbled to the floor.

"Thanks for the warning, Granger," Malfoy snapped. He was already standing and brushing himself off again. She thought it was amusing how he hated to be dirtier than necessary.

The trio continued. Not far down the newly re-arranged corridor, Hermione took a left and was immediately assaulted by an intense wave of mingled scents: dog, blood, and Harry and Ron, only stronger. The nerve-wracking cacophony was also traveling more clearly towards her ears. They were finally getting close.

She broke into a run – fast but not losing her companions in her haste. Hermione wanted to reach Harry and Ron before the castle decided to play musical hallways again.

Hearts pounding, they raced down the long black corridor. The smells assailing her nostrils were thick and oppressive. Especially the blood; the odor was so pervasive that she could almost taste its copper tang.

Hermione rounded one last corner and skidded to a halt. The sight she saw caused her heart to skip a beat, leaving her a little breathless. Then, with less than a second's hesitation, she broke into a dead sprint. Her muscles carried her easily. She opened her gait, closing the gap between Harry, Ron and herself more rapidly than she would have thought possible.

Fifty meters away the boys stood cornered with at least a dozen of Simeon Slytherin's cursed hounds barring their exit. Harry was leaning heavily on Ron for support, his jeans soaked with blood. As she drew near, she saw that Harry's face was ashen and his shoulders slumped, but he was still trying weakly to aid Ron in fending off the beasts.

Hermione let the leopard's instincts take over. It was weird, taking a backseat in her own mind. Like a spring uncoiling, she launched herself clear over the bunch of hounds and landed neatly next to Ron. The scent of Harry's blood was overwhelming.

Hermione's sudden appearance startled them. They looked prepared to hex her into next Sunday until she attacked an overly brave hound who thought it would take advantage of the distraction. She and the dog were of equal size, but Hermione still had momentum from her sprint behind her, and she used it to overpower her enemy. Before it knew what happened, Hermione bowled it over, and, sinking her teeth into its stale flesh, she shook her head viciously. The animal's neck broke with a crack.

The other dogs in front of her retreated a few steps, not sure what to make of the newcomer. Hermione let go of the dead animal when she heard Malfoy's voice carrying over the other sounds rebounding in the hallway. She hissed and growled, daring the other hounds to approach.

"Don't just stand there, Weasley, keep fighting!" Malfoy shouted.

Hermione did not turn around to see if Ron obeyed. She was currently staring down five of the ugliest things she had ever laid eyes on. They were Irish wolf hounds, or had been at one point. Their grey fur was dull and matted, giving them a mangy appearance. Their eyes were empty; the green light cast from the serpents' mouths gave their glassy black orbs an eerie luminescence. Foam and saliva dripped from their snarling muzzles. The taste in Hermione's mouth was enough to make her wretch, and their stench was as stale as a tomb.

A shimmer caught her eye behind the pack of dogs before her. Absalom appeared and fired a jet of red light at the nearest one. He must have flown over the fray, outflanking them.

"Granger!" he barked. "See to Potter!"

Hermione heard his words, and knew that Harry needed help, but a huge part of her wanted to keep fighting. Leopards were hunters, and there were so many of them waiting for her to end their miserable lives. It was with great effort that she climbed back into the driver's seat of her mind and reigned in her instincts. Absalom was right. Harry needed help – fast.

Focusing on the incantation meant to reverse the transformation, Hermione visualized her self-image until the same watery feeling as before stole over her body. Immediately she extended a bit of magic, not wanting to delay. In moments, Hermione was standing next to a gobsmacked Ron and a very faint Harry.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, not sure if his eyes were deceiving him.

"Yes, Ronald, it's me," she said sharply. A bubble of anger rose to the surface and burst before she could push it back down. She wrapped her arms around Harry, supporting him so Ron could fight unhindered. He was mumbling protestations, but she paid him no heed.

"Watch my back while I have a look at Harry." Ron hesitated. "Well, go on!"

As if coming out of a trance, Ron began firing hexes at the animals once more. They seemed to be fairly resistant to magic, but not terribly cunning either. With Harry in the state he was, a dozen hounds – cursed or not – should have been able to subdue the two boys rather easily.

Hermione laid Harry down on the obsidian floor and he winced in pain. There were bruises forming all on the right side of his face and his left leg and torso were sticky with blood. He was in as bad a shape as Malfoy had been one week ago to the day.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Saving your scrawny arse," she retorted.

"You shouldn't have come here."

"You can thank me later. Tell me what happened."

Harry nodded once, a grimace twisting his face; he was too weak to protest further. Using her wand, Hermione quickly split Harry's jeans from knee to hip and carefully peeled back the blood soaked fabric – what was left of it. The material was scorched and torn as well.

She inhaled sharply at the sight. His flesh was badly damaged and bleeding with lacerations covering him. His hip was dislocated, and his left femur appeared to be broken. Hermione pushed up his battered shirt, revealing broken ribs on both sides and more bruising. It was amazing Harry was still conscious.

While she performed her examination, Harry explained what happened.

"As soon as we found the wand, those bloody dogs appeared out of nowhere and started chasing us through the halls. Then the floors moved again and a wall appeared directly in front of us. I tried using a blasting spell, but it ricocheted and hit me, and I flew back into the wall behind me.

"Oh, Harry," she said under her breath. "How long ago did this happen?"

"I have no idea. I don't even know how long we've been in here."

"You've been in here for over twelve hours." Harry said nothing.

Hermione waved her wand over him to stop the bleeding. It would buy her some time to figure out how to fix the rest of him. He could not stand without support, and none of them could risk levitating him as they would all need their wands at the ready. She considered trying the trick she pulled in the Hospital Wing, but was not sure if she should risk incapacitating herself.

Hermione picked her head up and swiftly surveyed the scene. Ron was firing hexes to his left and right, attacking the hounds that surrounded them. Absalom was on Hermione's right and Draco was on her left. Both were attacking their respective packs from behind.

A familiar rumbling carried through the floor beneath Hermione's knees. Harry felt it too.

"The halls are about to move," he gasped, trying to brace himself.

"Malfoy, Absalom, get over here!" she shouted, not wanting to risk them becoming separated.

Absalom transformed, landed next to her barely a second later, then transformed back into a man, and began fighting next to Ron. Malfoy, however, was having some trouble. He had killed one hound and another was severely injured, but there were still four more separating the partners. Luckily Ron was too absorbed in what he was doing to realize that Hermione had just shouted to their arch nemesis.

"I don't have wings, Granger. A little help?" he said.

"Hold on to your wand," she said and pointed her own at him. _"Levicorpus!"_

Draco swore as the spell jerked him up by his ankle like a pig snare. Hermione steered him towards the group and gently deposited him on the ground.

"You could have told me what you were going to do," he complained.

The floor began moving, then. The hounds Malfoy had been fighting were mercifully cut off by a newly formed wall. The corridor moved backwards, maintaining the same angle, and then abruptly shot upward what felt like two stories.

Ron and Absalom, who had only stumbled, continued shooting spells at the five remaining hounds. Draco moved over to Hermione's side to see the damage for himself.

"Stop whining. Would you rather have been separated from us?"

Malfoy frowned, biting back a response. He changed the subject.

"Shite, Potter," he said under his breath.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry spat. He was surprisingly vehement considering his weakened state.

Malfoy ignored Harry and turned to Hermione. "Can you fix him up well enough to get us out of here?"

Hermione shook her head. "There is too much damage." She explained to him Harry's various injuries.

"Could you do what you did-"

"I can try, but that did not end so well, in case you don't recall," she said uncertainly. She knew he was talking about the incident in the infirmary.

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. He was clearly annoyed, but too worn to commandeer their attention. Neither of them answered him.

Draco put a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder. She was surprised he would so something so bold right in front of Harry, but was too thankful to care. Their eyes locked.

"You can do it."

She still was not one hundred percent convinced, but what other choice was there? They were alive now, but how long would they remain so while trapped inside?

"You'll-"

"Make sure you don't lose control? Yes."

Hermione took a deep breath and released it. "Ok."

"One of you better tell me what the hell is going on," Harry said.

"Keep your knickers on, Potter," Malfoy snapped.

"I'm going to heal you," Hermione said. She snapped her wand back in its holster and placed her hand above Harry's hip. "We'll worry about the rest once we get out of here. Now lie still, I need to concentrate."

Turning her attention inward, she began searching for the magic like she had before. She found it easily enough and focused on drawing out only a small amount. Her hand felt warm and tingly, like pins and needles but less painful.

It grew in strength steadily; Hermione could feel it pulsing down her arm. Then Malfoy's grip on her shoulder tightened and his breath ghosted across her ear.

"Let it go," he whispered.

She did. Opening her eyes, Hermione found Harry gasping, eyes wide, and looking markedly healthier than a moment ago. She looked down at his leg and torso. Other than some blood, there was not a mark on him. Smiling, she repaired his pants.

"I told you that you could do it, Granger," Malfoy said as he released his grip, a rare smile on his face.

"Do you think you can go now?" she asked Harry, not bothering to explain.

"How did you-"

"Save it, Potter," Draco snapped, reverting back to his usual self. "How about getting out of here before you start playing twenty questions?"

Harry glared daggers at him. "Funny, I thought I was asking Hermione. Shut your mouth."

"He's right, Harry," Hermione said, furthering Harry's shock. "We need to get out of here. I'll tell you everything I can later."

"If you three are done catching up, I think we should be getting a move on," Absalom threw over his shoulder. Hermione heard a yelp followed by a sick thud. A hex had found its mark. She noted there were only two hounds left. Ron and Absalom made a good team.

Hermione and Draco stood. She swayed unsteadily on her feet. While she had been sitting down the after effects of using the healing spell had been hardly noticed, but they hit her as she rose. Draco put a firm hand on her arm, giving her support. Harry gingerly got off of the floor and tested his weight on his leg. He was also pointedly not looking at Hermione and Malfoy.

"I'm fine, Malfoy," she said. "Nothing a bit of adrenaline won't fix." He nodded, but remained close. "Harry?"

"It's a little sore, but I'll be fine. Let's go."

Hermione looked around. The direction they had come from was now a dead end, but behind them a new corridor had opened out of the stone. She began moving down the hall. Draco and Harry followed.

"Guys, let's go!" she shouted over her shoulder to Absalom and Ron.

Absalom hung back to cast one last spell. He fired a bright blue ball of fire towards the two remaining hounds. When it drew new to them, it began spinning rapidly and formed a small cyclone. It swept them up and carried them away from the wizards. Ron stood with his mouth agape at the interesting display of magic. Absalom grabbed Ron's arm and half-dragged, half-threw him towards the others.

"We need to keep close," was all he said.

They moved at a slow jog through the corridors; Hermione and Draco were in the lead, Harry and Ron in the middle and Absalom brought up the rear. Harry was moving stiffly, but was keeping up. Hermione could hear them whispering about her, but decided she was not going to concern herself with it at the moment. Now that she, Malfoy and Absalom had found the two boys, all she wanted to do was get back to the shabby safety of Grimmauld Place.

Choosing the directions mainly based upon her gut, they wandered around the third floor, weathering two hall shifts. However, they had not encountered any stairs, leading up or down, and the lack of windows gave Hermione little sense of direction. Finally after thirty minutes without any luck, Hermione slowed to a stop for a breather. She and Draco stood side by side on one side of the hall while Harry and Ron stood opposite. Absalom stood slightly removed from the teens, keeping an eye on the hall behind them.

Leaning against the wall, Hermione took in her companions' appearances. Absalom was blank; he might as well have been a statue. Malfoy had schooled his face into his classic indifference, masking his thoughts from Harry and Ron. A glance thrown in Hermione's direction told her that he was fully expecting them to begin cursing him at any moment. Harry looked both fatigued and angry, and was glaring with blatant hostility at her partner. Ron displayed a mixture of anger and confusion. He hated Malfoy as much as Harry, and did not understand how the three of them had gotten into Tullynally castle or why. Not to mention he had been running next to a perfectly unharmed Harry for the past half-hour.

Ron broke the silence, repeating Harry's earlier question. "What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" His voice was oozing venom.

"That's what I'd like to know," Harry added. They both had their wands gripped tightly, ready to curse Draco at the slightest provocation.

Hermione edged closer to Draco, a movement that was not missed by Harry. She was desperately trying to think of something intelligent to say. She knew she must choose her words carefully, but, for once in her life, her mind had deserted her.

"It looks like I'm saving your life," Draco returned. "A little gratitude wouldn't kill you."

"Gratitude? GRATITUDE?" Harry shouted. "You expect _me_ to be _grateful_ to _you_? After everything you've done to me and my friends?" He turned on Hermione. "What are you doing with him, anyways?"

"Harry, lower your voice. There's no need to shout," she said in a valiant attempt to sound rational.

"I'll lower my voice when I bloody well feel like it! You had better start telling me what the hell is going on!"

"Or what, Potter?" Malfoy snapped. "Are you going to hex her? I wouldn't suggest it, if you know what's good for you."

Hermione was at a woeful lack of words. Thankfully, her reflexes had not deserted her as well. Letting his anger gain control, Harry raised his wand and fired a jet of dark purple light at Draco. Hermione recognized the curse well. With Harry's emotional spike it might have done serious damage, maybe even killed him.

Instantly, Hermione leapt at Draco, tackling him to the ground. The curse scorched onto the wall where Malfoy had been standing moments before. They landed in a heap on the floor with Hermione on top, arms and legs all tangled up.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ shouted Absalom, disarming Harry before he could cast another spell. His words were heated, showing a disdain for Harry he must have picked up from Snape. "What's in your head? Bloody idiot, firing a curse like that in a hallway. You could have killed someone."

Harry immediately began arguing with Absalom. "That's what I was trying to do," he said icily. "Give me back my wand."

"Not until you get yourself under control, Potter."

"I don't know who you think you are, but mind your own bloody business. This has nothing to do with you."

"It doesn't matter who I am," Absalom replied cryptically. "What _does_ matter is that your complete lack of self-control has almost made a bad situation worse, and if I have to be the one to stop you, so be it."

His tone left no room for negotiations, but Harry was all worked up and was not going to just let it go. Harry continued yelling, but Hermione tuned him out. She was more focused on Draco's firm body beneath her. Their eyes locked for a moment and she blushed. Their faces were dangerously close together.

"Was that necessary, Granger?" he said quietly as they began untangling themselves.

"Trust me; you didn't want to be hit with that. It hurts like hell." She rolled off him and they stood up. He looked at her questioningly, but did not ask her what she meant by that.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said, brushing himself off.

Harry was still fuming at Absalom, but had not gained any ground with the stern man. Ron, however, had been watching Hermione and Draco, and was livid. He spoke, his voice dangerously low.

"Hermione, what's going on?"

She turned away from Draco and met Ron's angry glare head on. "It's really not important right now, Ronald. We need to focus on getting out," she said, hoping she sounded firmer than she felt. This was not at all how she had wanted to tell them about Malfoy.

"Not important? You show up here with Malfoy, who you seem mighty friendly with, and this bloke," he gestured towards Absalom, "as an Animagus. Then you heal Harry without a wand, and you say it's not important? I think you need to redefine 'important.'"

Their conversation had caught Harry's attention. "Yeah, Hermione, care you explain yourself?"

"You two are unbelievable," Draco jumped to her defense. "She shows up, saves your lives, heals you, and you think she needs to explain herself. You're both thicker than I thought. You should be thanking her right now, not giving her the third degree."

"Since when you do you stand up for her, Malfoy?" Ron demanded hotly. "To you she's just a Mudblood."

"You don't know anything about me, Weasel. And I thought you'd be glad someone was doing your job for you, lazy, incompetent arse that you are."

Although Hermione found it touching that Draco was trading barbs and insults with Harry and Ron on her behalf, instead of vice versa, she had a dreadful feeling that things were about to get terribly out of hand. Harry really did not have any control over his emotions or his magic, and Ron had become much more proficient at dueling. She and Absalom exchanged worried glances; he saw this ending badly as well. For the umpteenth time, she wondered what he was thinking. He was as unreadable as Snape had been.

Finding her tongue, she squared her shoulders and spoke up. "I will kindly remind _all_ of you that I am perfectly capable of standing up for myself. Now, if you three are quite finished, we really must be going. Unless, of course, you want to go for round two with those horrible dogs."

As if to prove her point, the corridors began rearranging themselves again. Hermione and Draco caught their balance on one another; Harry and Ron did the same. Absalom, however, had apparently grown tired of dealing with the razor-tongued teens. He tossed Harry his wand and morphed into the hawk. Hermione felt slightly abandoned. Absalom had been the only other voice of reason in the bunch. Once the floor stopped moving, the hawk took flight and landed lightly on Hermione's shoulder.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, is that all you have to say?" Ron shouted. Hermione flinched, but did not back down. "What other secrets have you been keeping form us?"

She smirked at the comment. If they only knew.

_Saved Malfoy's life, and would have saved Snape's had he been alive._

_Declared war on Fenrir Greyback for Draco's sake._

_Watched Snape's memories with Draco, and did not tell Harry and Ron about it._

_Agreed to be partners with Malfoy, who might become a werewolf in two weeks._

_Kissed Malfoy – twice._

She wisely kept her mouth shut. So did Draco, who was smirking as well. He was thinking the same thing she was.

Absalom interrupted by cawing loudly and flying off to the right. Hermione watched his progress down the hall, at the end of which was a newly revealed flight of stairs. Excitement took over again as she began jogging to catch up to the black bird.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted after her.

"Stairs!"

She ran and the boys followed. Barreling into the alcove, she practically leapt down the first four steps, but immediately spun around and began ascending once again. She almost knocked all three of them over with her sudden change of direction. The sound of several hounds barking could be clearly heard echoing up the stairs. She supposed it would have been asking too much to elude them forever.

"Quick! We'll have to go up!" she ordered.

As a group they sprinted up the stairs, the commotion below them increasing steadily. Absalom flew just ahead, circling back every now and then to shriek at them in haste.

Adrenaline coursed through Hermione's veins, giving her tired legs strength. They ran up at least three flights of stairs before an exit presented itself. Just ahead loomed a heavy oak door with iron filigree covering it. With a flick of her wand, Hermione opened it to find…more stairs.

Without waiting, Absalom continued leading them up the spiral staircase. They had entered a tower of some sort, and the air was markedly cooler and less stale.

"They're right behind us!" Ron shouted from the rear.

Hermione began taking the steps two at a time, fighting off the panic she felt welling up inside of her. Two stories up, she almost ran head long into Absalom, who had transformed back, and was opening another filigreed door. The blast of freezing cold air that hit her took what breath she had clear out of her lungs. Before them stretched a catwalk, no more than two meters across, running the entire length of the castle. There was another tower at the far end.

Hermione plunged ahead without delay. However, her heart sank into her trainers when she reached the tower opposite. There was no door, only smooth stone. They were trapped – seven stories above ground.

"I'm so sick of this _fucking_ castle!" Harry shouted at the heavens. The moon was still shining brightly, giving everything a silver cast. Draco's hair glowed as he raked his hands through it. He was no longer trying to mask his agitation.

"What now, Granger?" he asked.

Harry and Ron were also looking to her for a plan. Absalom was watching the door they had recently come through, barely paying attention to the conversation. She was suddenly very, _very_ annoyed.

"How the hell should I know!" she exclaimed. "Why doesn't someone else come up with a brilliant escape plan for once?" As Hermione spoke the words she was more than a little shocked to feel a familiar crackle of magic on her skin. It was her first taste of emotionally fueled, unsummoned, raw magic. It was scary. Mentally, she struggled to regain composure.

Then the dogs came. One by one they poured onto the catwalk, barking, growling, and salivating, anticipating the all too easy kills ahead. Hermione lost count; there were more than twenty.

Absalom fired the first hex. The stunning spell found its mark, but did little damage. The hound was knocked backwards, but it immediately scrambled back to its feet, undaunted. Hermione and the boys joined in, aiming their own hexes and curses at the pack of animals advancing upon them. The head of the pack was no more than three meters in front of them.

Hermione's brain went into overdrive. They needed an exit and they needed one fast, but the only one available included a seven story dive to earth. A feeling of detachment stole over her as she watched her companions fighting for their lives. So much was riding on them escaping, on Harry surviving to fight Voldemort. Being mauled to death by vicious dogs that refused to die was not how she envisioned her adventure coming to an end. No on even knew where they were.

Absalom could leave whenever he wanted. All he had to do was transform in the hawk and fly away. Despite this fact, he seemed determined not to abandon them in their last moments.

_Too bad we all can__'__t fly away…_

Desperation welled up within her, mingling with the anger and panic Hermione was already feeling. Her magic sparked to life again. She had an idea. It might be a foolish idea, but it was all she had at the moment.

_Perhaps if I can control it, just a little…_

_This is insane._

_What other choice is there?_

There was a chance she would not be able to and they would all die, but that end was looking rather eminent as it was. It was worth a try. Hermione cast one more hex before making her decision.

"Absalom, I need you to fly down to the ground and help me," Hermione said.

He threw her a questioning glance. "What do you need me to do?" he asked gruffly.

"Fly down and wait. You'll know what to do when you see," she answered vaguely. Hermione did not want to reveal her plan. She did not want him to try and talk her out of it. They were running out of time as it was and she desperately needed Absalom's help. Seven stories, after all, was a very long way to fall.

"Just trust me."

He nodded once before morphing into the hawk and descending towards the ground. Hermione slid her wand into her holster and climbed up on the ledge.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy shouted when he saw her.

"Saving us - I hope. Hold onto your wands!" She heard Absalom shout her name from below. He was ready when she was.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione closed her eyes and focused on the two spells she would need. She did not even know if she _could_ cast two spells simultaneously, but she had to, or else this would not work. With the words _Protego_ and _Wingardium Leviosa_ revolving in her head, she let the magic loose. With both arms extended before her, Hermione felt the magic pour forth much like it had during her training sessions with Moody and Tonks. It was so intense; it almost broke her concentration.

When Hermione heard Draco, Harry, and Ron swear loudly, she opened her eyes. From her left hand a fait line of orange light was feeding into a magical shield separating her friends from their attackers. The Shield Charm was holding. The boys, however, were now floating about a meter above the stone floor. None of them were looking very pleased, but if this worked, they would be thanking her later.

Keeping the flow of magic feeding their only defense, Hermione focused on levitating them. She moved her right hand towards the edge. Slowly, as though they were in a giant bubble, all three of them floated over the ledge.

Harry and Ron were protesting loudly; Harry was saying something about a broom, but Malfoy seemed to have caught on. He too cast _Protego_, fortifying Hermione's shield so she could divert more power into not dropping them to their untimely deaths.

"Absalom!" she shouted. "Now would be a good time to lend a hand!"

Instantly, she felt his magic added to her own helping to steady Draco, Harry, and Ron's decent. With Absalom's aid, they were now moving speedily downward. It was a good thing, too. Hermione could feel her physical strength flowing out of her, mingled with the magic. Unfortunately, stamina was not possessed in limitless quantities like magic.

As if the hounds felt her weakness they began throwing themselves mindlessly at the shield, heedless of the pain it caused them. Every blow traveled along the magical connection and up Hermione's arm, jarring her concentration. She began to panic once again; she knew she would not last much longer.

Hermione stole a peek over the edge. Absalom was just lowering the three boys to the ground. Draco was already shouting up at her, his voice filled with urgency. Harry and Ron joined in a moment later. She could not understand what they were saying through the fog that was seeping into her mind.

A final blow to the shield broke the spell. With a cry, Hermione tumbled off the ledge and into the darkness.


	11. Undone

_**Every friend we ever had in common  
I will sever the tie, sever the tie with you  
You can thank your lucky stars  
That everything I wish for will never come true **_

When you go, I will forget everything about you 

**Fallout Boy: Sending Postcards from a Plane Crash**

* * *

**Undone**

Sunday, September 21

Hermione groaned as a wave of nausea crashed into her. Other than the roiling tempest in her stomach and what felt like a hippogriff stampede in her head, her whole body was numb. She felt like she had after the incident in the Hospital Wing, only a hundred times worse.

Fighting the oblivion that was threatening to swallow her again, Hermione struggled to open her eyes. For a moment she thought she heard someone calling her name, but it sounded so very far away.

"Granger, wake up."

It was clearer, closer this time. She groaned again and finally forced her eyes open. Staring down at her was the wide-eyed, upside-down face of Draco Malfoy. Judging by the angle, Hermione's head was resting in his lap. He was a bit fuzzy around the edges, but it was definitely him.

"Thank Merlin," he breathed. "She's awake."

In a heartbeat, three more faces came into view: Absalom, Harry, and Ron. Harry and Ron began speaking at once, but her mind was having trouble separating the two. Absalom put two fingers to her neck, trying to measure her pulse. He looked at her gravely. Draco wore an identical expression.

"How did you do that, Granger?" Absalom asked.

"Harry," she mumbled in response.

The two boys stopped their chattering at once and stared at her blankly. Hermione began to feel uncomfortable under four pairs of scrutinous eyes.

"What did you say?" Harry said in disbelief.

"Your name, you tit," Draco snapped.

"I know she said my name, Ferret. I was wondering why."

Absalom continued to study her, adding things up. "Ipswich?" he asked.

Hermione nodded, but immediately regretted it. Her vision swam as the pain in her head soared to new heights. She desperately hoped that Draco would take the high road and let Harry be Harry. She really didn't have the strength just then to be breaking the two apart again.

"I don't know what's going on," Draco said, his voice softer, as though he was speaking solely to Hermione. "But I think we need to get you home."

"I take back what I said earlier," Hermione said tiredly. _"That_ was the most brilliant thing you've ever said."

Draco barely repressed a laugh at the inside joke as he linked his arms beneath Hermione's and wrapped them around her chest. Absalom and Ron each took a hand and carefully pulled Hermione to her feet. Draco stood with her, and moved his hands to her waist, helping her balance.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy," Ron spat.

Defiantly, Draco's grip tightened on Hermione's waist. She made no attempt to remove his hands. In fact, she rather liked having his support. She felt extraordinarily safe and grounded. There was also the tiny, evil voice in her head – a voice that sounded suspiciously like Draco - telling her that she was enjoying seeing Ron so irate. She could almost picture a miniature version of her partner standing on her shoulder holding a pitchfork, encouraging her to antagonize him. The angel which should have been perched on her other shoulder was notably absent.

"I didn't hear you complaining where my hands were when _I_ caught her after _your_ levitation charm failed," Draco responded rather flatly. His tone only served to infuriate Ron further.

Hermione noticed there was also the distinct absence of the words "are you ok," and "thank you."

_What's a girl got to do to get some appreciation around here?_

_Draco seems to be 'appreciating' you._

_Draco__? When did that happen?_

Hermione shivered and it wasn't from the cold.

"Honestly," she said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Can't this wait? It's bloody cold out here."

Ron wore a pained expression as though he was literally biting his tongue to keep from retorting. He nodded stiffly.

"Harry?" She turned her head weakly in Harry's direction. He still looked angry and was solemnly appraising the situation with his arms folded across his chest. His keen viridian eyes lingered on Draco's hands before finding Hermione's face. The intensity of his gaze would have made her squirm had she not been so fatigued. Her strength was slow in returning.

"Here or there, you're going to answer our questions."

Hermione suddenly felt as if she was under attack and had to force herself not to take a defensive stance. Harry's cold demeanor was far worse than if he'd been screaming and ranting like he usually did. Screaming and ranting she could deal with; they were familiar. The Harry before her – despite his unchanged appearance – was not the same Harry who left her behind all those months ago. But then, she figured she wasn't the same person, either.

Hermione drew herself up and took two wobbly but determined steps away from Draco. He seemed reluctant to let her go, but didn't fight her. She raised her chin defiantly.

"I will tell you what I can, but I'm not the only one who has some answering to do, Harry."

Hermione noted with a small measure of grim satisfaction that Harry was peeved by her response. She did not know what he had expected, but it was not what he got.

"Go to Grimmauld Place, both of you," she continued. "We'll be along in a minute." Her tone left no room for argument, but Ron was never the most perceptive of blokes.

"You seriously expect us to leave you alone with ferret-face?"

"You left her once before; it should be second nature by now," Draco interjected.

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione swiftly cut him off.

"Honestly, Ronald, just _go_."

"Come on, Ron, let's give them some privacy," Harry said, acidly.

Hermione's stomach flipped alarmingly at Harry's implication. The sensation did nothing to help the nausea or the fact that her legs felt as though they were going to give out at any moment.

"Fine," Ron said through clenched teeth. "We'll be in the kitchen."

They Disapparated with two angry _cracks._

As soon as they blinked out of sight, Hermione let her legs collapse beneath her and sank to the ground. She took several deep breaths, willing her hands to stop shaking and her head to stop spinning. It wasn't really working.

Draco sat down next to her; his mere presence calmed her. Hermione was surprised by this, but was too grateful to care. She began collecting her thoughts, preparing for the inevitable row she would be having with Harry and Ron in just a few short minutes.

"Are you alright," he asked.

"No," she whispered. "I'm not. I feel like I've been run over by a train."

There was a pause before Draco lightly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Repaying the favor."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Hermione rested her head on his shoulder.

"Granger?"

She jumped at the sound of Absalom's deep voice, having completely forgotten he was there. "Yes?"

"I need to ask you some questions before I go." Hermione took a deep breath and nodded for him to proceed. He crouched in front of them.

"How did Severus die?"

Draco answered. "Fenrir Greyback. He nearly killed me too."

Absalom frowned deeply, but continued. "You recognized me at the meeting. I'm assuming you have the letterbox."

"We do," Hermione paused, remembering a particular scene from Snape's memories. "The hag – the one in the shoe shop. Where is she?"

Absalom considered before answering as though he was not sure if he wanted to divulge that information. "Barcelona," he said finally.

"And she has it?" Hermione asked hopefully.

Absalom shook his head. "No, Fea is more a… gatekeeper, but she does know where it is."

Hermione couldn't help but smile. "That's good to hear."

"How long have you been studying to become an Animagus?"

She wasn't sure what it had to do with anything, but answered nonetheless. "Two days."

"Two –" He stood and pulled a hand through his wild black hair. "Two _days_?"

"Yes," she replied self-consciously. "Why?"

"It took me almost a year, and Severus said I was a quick study."

Hermione's mouth was a round 'o' of disbelief.

"You're a powerful witch, Granger. You'd best learn to control it before it becomes a liability, like Potter's."

"What are you saying?" Draco asked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Absalom turned back to Hermione. "You haven't told him, have you?"

She shook her head. "You're the only other person who knows, and that's because you saw what happened."

"You're going to have to tell him. Especially if you keep pulling stunts like that," he said, pointing towards the deserted catwalk, the hounds having long since left, once they realized their meal had escaped.

"I know," she said with a sigh. She really did know.

"I must go now," Absalom said. "There is…business that needs attending too."

"Thank you – for everything," Hermione said.

"I brought you here. _You_ got them out alive."

Hermione snorted in a very unladylike way. "Yeah, and I almost killed myself in the process."

Absalom smirked a very Snape-like smirk and stepped back to transform.

"Wait," Hermione said hurriedly. "How can we contact you?"

He paused. "What for?"

"Information. Communication in general. Help, if we need it." Her unconscious inclusion of Draco did not go unnoticed. He squeezed her shoulder. Hermione suddenly felt a great deal warmer in the cold air.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, we are," said Draco.

Pulling his wand out, Absalom knelt before the pair once again. "Give me your hand."

Hermione extended her left and Draco offered his right.

"I'm left handed," he explained in response to her curious expression.

_Why didn't I notice that before?_

_Because you were too busy focusing on other parts of his anatomy._

_Shut up!_

Without a word, Absalom held Hermione's hand, palm up, and touched the tip of his wand to the inside of her wrist. Hermione hissed in mild pain as he began tracing an intricate, circular maze on her skin. It took him a couple of minutes to complete the pattern.

She studied the black lines in the moonlight. "It's a labyrinth."

Absalom, who had already begun repeating the process on Draco, did not look up as he spoke. "Aye. I have one, as did Severus. To activate it, put your wand to it and speak my name aloud. Wait five minutes, and then go to the cottage in the woods. I will do the same if I need to speak with you."

When he finished Draco's tattoo, he stood and said, "Choose your words carefully, Granger, and don't let them push you around. You need to be a Slytherin tonight."

Before either of them could respond, a black hawk winged off into the night.

"Well, he's an interesting sort, isn't he?" Draco said.

"Indeed."

"We should head back before Potter and Weasley show up, hexes flying."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "I'm just not looking forward to this. At all."

"Do you think you can Apparate?"

"Unless you want half of a partner at Grimmauld place, I suggest a Portkey."

"And leave me to deal with those two baboons? I think not. But you'll have to make the Portkey; I never have. We wouldn't want us to end up on the other side of the country."

Hermione chuckled, enjoying their friendly banter. It was a relief considering what she had waiting for her at Grimmauld Place.

"Fair enough. Where's that candle we used earlier?" she said.

"_Accio_ candle."

Silently, the half-used chunk of wax zoomed toward Draco's chest. With a Seeker's reflexes, he snatched it out of the air before it hit him. He set it on the ground in front of them.

Hermione flicked her wand out of its holster and pointed it at the candle. With the image of the foyer at Grimmauld Place in her mind she incanted, "_Portus_."

Draco removed his arm from her shoulder, but Hermione caught his hand in hers. "I hate Portkeys," she offered lamely. Draco did not remove his hand, and she was more relieved than she ought to have been.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No."

"On three. One. Two. Three."

Together, they grabbed the Portkey and left Tullynally castle behind. When they reappeared just inside the front door, Hermione had a death grip on Draco's hand. The whirling motion of the Portkey had brought the nausea back full force.

"At least I've not been splinched," she said wryly.

"Small consolations."

Behind the kitchen door down the hall, Harry and Ron could be heard moving around and talking, most likely finding something to eat. Draco stood, pulling her up with him.

"Let's get this over with," he said.

Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment before his words sunk in. He meant to join her. "You don't have to do this, Malfoy. It's not your fight."

"Perhaps not, but we're partners. Besides, I've always maintained that Potter was insane. Someone needs to mediate."

"You? Mediate? I think you're the one who's insane." Draco shrugged. "Who are you and what did you do with Draco Malfoy?"

"He took a holiday – be back in the morning."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled, and walked towards the kitchen door. Before she opened it, Draco put his hand on it to stop her. The labyrinth tattoo was plainly visible, a reminder that they really were in it together. That she wasn't alone.

"Absalom was right, you know," he said, serious once more. "If you go in there all emotional and uppity, this discussion is going to go south much quicker than you'd like. Keep your head about you and your tongue in check."

Hermione nodded grimly, knowing that he was right. He moved his hand and she opened the door. Inside, Harry was seated at the table eating a sandwich and Ron had his head in the icebox. Neither noticed their arrival.

"There's some dinner left in the oven, Ronald."

Startled, Ron stood up quickly, forgetting his head was inside the 'box. He cracked the back of his skull on bump forming.

Harry dropped his sandwich and fixed them with an icy glare. He looked positively murderous. Hermione was eternally grateful that she would not be bearing the full brunt of Harry's wrath alone. Draco's presence was solid and reassuring behind her.

Draco shut the door as they stepped into the room. Harry stood and walked up to them. His emerald eyes flicked observantly between them. Hermione noticed Ron watching them out of the corner of her eye.

"Piss off, Malfoy," Harry ground out.

His tone caused the overall temperature in the room to drop to hypothermic levels. Hermione imagined if she was breathing she would be able to see it condensing in the air in front of her face. She did, however, take a page out of Draco's book, and made her face as impassive as possible. It was difficult, but she at least managed to look far less anxious than she felt.

"Not going to happen, Potter," he said coolly.

At first, Harry did not react, but Hermione noticed a small muscle in his neck spasm. She gripped her wand tightly, waiting for the eruption.

Furiously, Harry threw Draco against the door. One fist wrapped tightly in Draco's shirt while the other trained his wand on Draco's throat. Malfoy, however, seemed to have expected this and did not so much as wince. Hermione was envious of his composure.

She reacted with catlike reflexes and had her wand pointed at Harry in seconds, who was oblivious to everything but Draco at the moment.

"Hermione! What are you doing?" Ron yelled. She ignored him.

"I should kill you for what you've done," Harry said menacingly.

Draco said nothing, but a shadow of his trademark smirk ghosted across his lips.

"Harry James Potter, unhand my partner this instant and sit down," Hermione demanded. She sounded remarkably like Professor McGonagall. _"We_ came here to talk, but we can leave, if you like."

Harry blinked twice before tearing his eyes off Draco and turning them on her. "Partner?"

"Yes. We're partners. Please, sit down. I'm exhausted."

"Not until Malfoy leaves."

"Not an option," she said firmly.

"I can't believe you're taking Malfoy's side over ours," Ron said from the other side of the room.

"No Ron, the day you left me, you took his side _for_ me. Had I been with you, he'd be dead."

"You saved his life?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I did, and I've not regretted it once. Now, if you want any of your questions answered, please release him and sit down."

"But Hermione, its _Malfoy,"_ said Ron.

"As ever, your powers of deduction are exceptional."

"How could you?" Harry said. "He's been our enemy since before we even made it to Hogwarts."

"Think on your own actions, and then ask me again. You have your fair share of responsibility here, too."

"We left you behind to protect you!" Harry shouted.

"First of all, I resent the implication that I _need_ protecting. I am quite capable, I assure you. Second, if I require so much protection, why is it me who's always rushing off to save your arses? And, finally, if you really had such noble intentions, why have I not heard a friendly word from you since you left? We have owled at least three times a week, but you never wanted anything more than information."

"Really, Hermione, we just-"

"Just what, Ronald?" she shouted. "I am not your personal encyclopedia!"

"It never seemed to bother you before," Harry remarked snidely.

"Before, I was helping my friends."

"So Malfoy's not just your partner, he's your friend, too?"

"He's shown more concern for my well-being in the past _week_ than either of you have in the past four _months_. So yes, he's my friend as well."

Too stunned to respond, Harry released Draco and stumbled backwards where he plopped down heavily into the nearest chair. Draco, too, looked surprised by Hermione's proclamation, but he hid it with practiced ease. Instead he merely smoothed the wrinkles left by Harry's balled fist out of his shirt.

Hermione supposed she should be shocked as well, but she wasn't, not really. Their relationship was far from perfect, or normal even, but he was definitely more than an acquaintance or partner at this point. She cared for him as a friend, and was fairly certain he returned the sentiment, if only marginally.

"Blimey," Ron said in hushed tones.

"Understatement," Harry agreed.

Hermione and Draco took advantage of Harry and Ron's distraction by seating themselves opposite Harry. She was on edge expecting another outburst from Harry, and she could sense Draco was too. As if in a stupor, Ron joined the others at the table, taking a seat next to Harry and across from Hermione.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "First question?"

"How long has this been going on?" Harry asked, still dazed.

"That's irrelevant. Next question."

One week. It even sounded ridiculous to her, which meant if she told them that, she had almost no chance of defending herself. No, it was best to keep that information to herself.

Harry seemed reluctant to drop the question, but Ron ploughed ahead impatiently. "How did you know we were trapped in Tullynally?" he asked, obviously not wanting to dwell on Draco's presence.

"Absalom came to us after the meeting. We went straight away."

"Who is he, and how do _you_ know him?" Harry demanded, sounding slightly paranoid.

Hermione thought fast to come up with an adequate lie and hope she could pull it off. She hated lying to them, but she did not see another option, either. Snape was forbidden territory as far as Harry was concerned. One mention of his name, and the conversation would be over.

"Absalom is…an ally, and I asked him to keep an eye on you."

She was surprised at how genuinely the words fell from her lips. Perhaps Malfoy was rubbing off on her.

"Why the hell would you do that?" Harry snapped.

"How else was I supposed to know anything?" she countered evenly. "Dumbledore trusted him; that should be enough for you. That's all I'll say about Absalom."

Harry glowered sullenly.

"What's the matter Potter?" Don't like being left out of the loop?" Draco taunted. He had remained silent thus far. Hermione supposed it would have been asking far too much for him not to bait them at some point during the evening, 'mediator' or not.

"Shut your face before I shut it for you, Death Eater. Or maybe I'll just turn you into something small, white and fuzzy…that ought to do the trick. At least then you'd look like the rodent you are."

"Enough!" Hermione interjected. "He is not, nor was he ever, a Death Eater, so leave it out. Next question or we're leaving."

The silence that fell was thick enough to eat with a spoon. Hermione chanced a look at Draco who was carefully watching every move the other two made. She was glad he had her back.

After an indeterminate length of time, Harry asked the one question she had hoped to avoid.

"When you woke up, Absalom," he said the name as though it tasted funny, "asked you how you did…whatever it was you did. Why did you say my name?"

Harry and Ron were expectantly staring across the table, and Hermione could tell by his slight shift of posture that Draco was just as interested in her answer as they were. She chose her words very carefully.

"When you were a baby, Harry, Voldemort imparted some of his power to you."

Harry grimaced, but nodded.

"I think something similar happened to me at Ipswich."

Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy glances. Draco, for the first time since they sat, was looking at Hermione.

"What are you saying," Harry asked in a shaky voice.

"By the look on your face, I'd say you understood me perfectly."

"But that's Dark magic," Harry hissed as he stood and slammed his palms down on the table. "I am _not_ a Dark wizard."

"The difference between Dark magic and normal, everyday magic lies solely with intent, Harry. You weren't exactly in control, but you had meant to kill those vampires," Hermione explained, finding a comfort zone in educating those around her. It was easy for her to detach when she was reciting bare facts. "I was simply unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast."

"No!" Harry shouted. "You're wrong. I don't believe you!"

"Mate" Ron said, trying to calm Harry.

"Don't, Ron." He turned to Hermione. "It's impossible; I'm not like him."

"I'm not saying you're like him, but I assure you, it's quite possible." Hermione was amazed at how steady her voice was. Usually and emotional display like this wound her up as well.

"NO!" he shouted again.

Draco, despite not really knowing what happened, stood to defend Hermione.

"If you stopped shouting for two seconds and put your thick head to work, you might remember who it is you're yelling at." Harry stopped and stared. "Granger is many things, but a liar is not one of them. Do you really think she would have even suggested something like she just did without reasoning it out until her head burst with it? Especially considering you lot act like a couple of five year olds who've just had their brooms confiscated."

"Stay out of this, Malfoy," Harry spat. "It's none of your bloody business."

"She is my business. You should get used to the idea."

Hermione couldn't help the warm feeling tightening in her chest as she watched Draco Malfoy take on Harry Potter head-to-head on her behalf. There was an irony to the whole scene; she could not quite believe her eyes – or her ears. Neither could Ron, for that matter. He was scratching his head dumbly, looking disturbingly similar to an orangutan.

Softly, Hermione gripped Draco's elbow, drawing his attention away from Harry. He looked down at her, silver eyes blazing.

"It's ok, really. I expected him to react like this."

Draco sat back down grudgingly, clearly not pleased to be abandoning his argument with Harry. Hermione ran one hand through her hair, but as she went to place it back on the table, Ron lunged forward and snatched it. He twisted it until it was palm up, revealing the mark on her wrist.

"What the hell is this, Hermione?" She yanked on her arm, but he held it fast. "What is it?" he repeated.

"It's how I communicate with Absalom," she said, mustering as much defiance as she could. "Now, let go of me."

"It's a mark?" Ron said incredulously. "You let him _mark_ you?"

"Malfoy has one too," Harry said contemptuously. His eyes lingered on Draco's arm. "Do you have the Dark Mark to match it?"

Draco sneered and pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow. "Sorry to disappoint, Potter."

Ron practically threw Hermione's hand back in disgust. "You've lost your mind."

Before Hermione could respond, Ron stood and grabbed a handful of Floo powder out of the canister on the mantle and threw it into the fire.

"The Burrow!" he shouted, and disappeared in a whirl of green flame.

Her stomach sank. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

"Harry-"

"He's right, Hermione," he interrupted. "Absalom, Malfoy – where are your allegiances anymore?"

"Don't insult her like that. You mistook a loyal friend for a fool, and now you have to live with the consequences."

"My _allegiance_ is with the Order. The war hasn't been waiting for you to return. We all have to do what we can-"

Harry snorted. "Befriending Malfoy was a bit above and beyond the call of duty, don't you think?"

He walked to the fireplace and opened the Floo to the Burrow as well. "Let us know when you've put your head on straight, Granger."

The use of her surname was like a kick to her stomach. Not once in the eight years they'd known each other had Harry called her anything other than 'Hermione.'

After Harry vanished to the Burrow as well, Hermione stared numbly at the hearth, not quite believing what just transpired. They'd had their rows before, but this one possessed an air of finality which settled on her shoulders with oppressive severity. After everything she had done for them, they abandoned her – again. But this time the gulf was far wider. She could smell the bridges burning.

_It's over._

_We're over._

_Oh, God._

Hermione hung her head in her hands and wept.

* * *

There it was again – that icky, cold, unsettling feeling leaking into his gut. Only this time it was mixed incongruously with some other emotion that was attempting to warm him from the inside out. _That_ emotion wrapped itself around Draco's lungs making it hard to breath and forcing his heart to beat much faster than it should have been.

Watching Hermione sob unabashedly over Potter and Weasley was breaking his heart. There was something so fundamentally _wrong_ with such a strong woman coming undone as she was – especially on their account. She did not deserve this.

Without hesitation, Draco gathered Hermione to his chest and held her there. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his neck. Idly, he twirled one soft caramel curl around his finger. Her hair smelled like apples.

When Hermione finally stopped crying, Draco realized that he was now in the uncomfortable position of needing to say something, but not having a clue as to what. What does one say to someone who has just been deserted by their best friends? Those two dunderheads were accusing Hermione of being disloyal when they were the ones who need a lesson in fidelity.

_Ignorant prats._

Hermione removed herself from Draco's embrace and began shyly wiping away any tears which might have lingered on her cheeks.

"Aren't I ridiculous – bawling like some lachrymose school girl," she said. Her voice was strained from crying.

Draco still had no idea what to say. He had little experience with emotional women. Sure, he could offer insultingly banal condolences or reassurances, but he did not want to lie to her either. The male, far less intelligent counterparts of the Golden Trio were known as much for their impulsive acts of bravery (or stupidity, depending on how one viewed it) as they were for their stubbornness – especially where Draco was concerned. They weren't going to budge on this one, thus making the situation decidedly not 'ok' for Hermione.

They were forcing her to choose: him or them.

"Thank you for, eh, being here…for me," Hermione said awkwardly.

Draco snorted, earning him a sharp look from his partner. "Granger, if I weren't here, there wouldn't _be_ a problem."

Hermione's features softened into a disheartened smile (if it could have been called a smile at all). She sighed heavily. "No, even if you weren't here, and hadn't been for the past week, I'd still be sitting here crying. The words wouldn't have been the same, but the end result would have been."

Draco must have appeared incredulous, because she continued without waiting for his reply. It was staggering how quickly she had picked up on all of his minute expressions and mannerisms, whereas at once upon a time his face had been a completely blank mask to her.

"Your being here had no effect on what happened before tonight. Harry and Ron still left me; they still treated me like shit and, even if I never could have admitted it without your…encouragement, I was, and still am, unbelievably angry with them.

"Furthermore, they were just as upset about Absalom as they were about you. There is little doubt in my mind that he still would have shown up here this evening, no matter the circumstances surrounding you and Snape. I still would have gone with him to Tullynally, and I more than likely would have allowed him to mark me."

"Why _did_ you let him mark you?" Draco couldn't help but ask.

Hermione absently ran her fingers over the black tattoo. The skin around it was still an angry red, but if it pained her, she gave no sign. Draco's own was still a bit sore, but not so much that it bothered him.

"Why did _you_?"

Draco paused to consider. Why had he? It was to his credit alone that his left forearm was absent the Dark Mark. He'd fed the Dark Lord some line about not wanting the honour unless he completed his mission. So why had he allowed a man he'd know for little more than two hours mark him?

After discarding several superficial answers, Draco found the truth.

"Because you're my partner, and I trust you."

Had Hermione's eyebrows shot up any faster, they might have left her face completely. Draco smirked.

"And I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys – by rule – do nothing by half. I'm not pretending we'll get along all the time. Actually, I'd be a little disappointed if we did, but we're in this together. Besides, something tells me he's the kind of bloke you'd want waiting in the wings if you got yourself into a pinch. No pun intended, of course."

Hermione smiled at him – no, not at him, _because_ of him. She smiled that brilliantly genuine smile that made her eyes sparkle and his stomach drop into his knees.

_She's beautiful when she smiles._

"Seriously, though; I believe that beneath all the layers of laconic mystery that Absalom is a good man with good intentions. He risked his cover and his life to save Harry, who was immensely ungrateful, and he stayed and fought when he could have just flown away. He didn't even need to come inside with us, but he did."

Staring at her hands, Hermione continued. "I don't understand your motivations, but you did the same thing. You risked your life to fight for the two people you hate most and who hate you in equal measure."

Hermione picked her head up to examine Draco's face before tenderly brushing his fringe, to which he'd been paying no attention, away from his face. Draco found that her eyes, while solemn, were still shining, though he did not know with what. Emotionally, Granger was all over the place, so there was no way of knowing, really.

When she spoke again, her voice was so soft that Draco needed to lean in closer to hear her.

"Tonight you showed me the man you could be, and not the child you were. I'm proud of you."

_I'm proud of you._

Four little words and Draco's ears were ringing with them. The four words he had spent his entire life waiting to hear his father say. How was it that those very same words had tumbled from her lips with such ease?

Draco wanted to say something, desperately, but Hermione had caught him completely off guard. What _could_ he say? Everything that came to mind seemed so inadequate.

"Thank you," he whispered, finally.

_Yes, definitely inadequate._

Hermione smiled; it was smaller this time, but just as sweet. "Come," she said, standing. "There's something I need to show you."

Still mulling over the very one-sided conversation he's just had, Draco stood and followed. She went to the second floor and entered the room between their bedroom and what he knew to be the door to the library. He noticed that she clutched the banister tightly as she made her way up, and chose her steps carefully and deliberately. She was still not fully recovered from her little display of heroism.

Draco leaned against the doorjamb while she went inside. The room was as small as theirs and contained only a large wardrobe, which had a full-length mirror on the right hand door, and a desk so small he wondered if she even fit beneath it. On it was a stack of books that looked ready to topple at a moments notice. There was however, one item which was conspicuous in its absence: a bed. Draco noticed a head-board shaped void on the dingy wall paper, and wondered if it was created by the bed that she now slept in next door, next to him.

Hermione crossed to the wardrobe, opened it, and knelt on the floor. There were two drawers inside and she pulled open the bottom one. From the drawer she withdrew the familiar black letterbox which held Snape's memories.

Draco allowed himself to become the teeniest bit excited at the prospect of watching the one memory contained in that box which he had yet to see.

"Granger?" he asked, hoping for an explanation.

She closed the wardrobe and exited the room. Draco moved aside to let her pass.

"Absalom was right," she said, walking down the hall towards the stairs. "I need to tell you; you need to know what happened."

Although the question had been driving him mad since he had first seen the scars that marred Hermione's back, Draco felt the most ridiculous urge to tell her she didn't have to tell him anything she didn't want to. Hermione was obviously uncomfortable with the subject. He recalled her telling Absalom that no one else knew what happened. Had she even kept it from the Healer who had attended her? He literally had to bite his tongue to keep from saying it.

Instead, he followed her to the third floor. She stopped two doors down from the study and whispered something into the keyhole. With a click, the door sprang open.

This room was a bit larger and held two beds, two dressers, and a closet. Hermione lit the lamps on the dresser tops with a flick of her wand.

"This is Harry and Ron's room," she explained as though the Chudley Cannons posters tackying up the walls was not evidence enough.

She knelt between the twin mattresses and reached beneath the far bed, muffling her voice. "I thought we'd just watch it up here." She slid the Pensieve out and unlatched its case. "Save us the trouble of carrying it."

Without waiting for an invitation, Draco sat cross-legged on the floor so that the Pensieve was between them. Hermione opened the letterbox and found the small glass phial with the number four etched on the side before dumping the silver liquid inside. It swirled around for a moment and then was still.

Hermione had her knees beneath her and her hands on her thighs. She was nervously cracking her knuckles with her thumbs. "Before we go in, I should give you some background information."

Draco nodded for her to continue. He was afraid the sound of voice would cause her to flee the room. She was terribly on edge, and had become increasingly so since they'd left the kitchen.

"We went to Ipswich looking for something. I can't tell you what – just know that it was important. It took us a little over two weeks but we finally found this mausoleum. We went in after dark because it was a Muggle cemetery, and did not want anyone to see what we were doing.

"After we found what we were looking for, the vampires attacked. There was an entire coven living beneath the mausoleum, Malfoy."

Both of Draco's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Vampires were uncommon in England, especially in such large numbers. A coven usually consisted of about thirty vampires, plus or minus. He wondered why they would be in a mausoleum in Ipswich, of all places.

"The memory begins just as we're escaping the mausoleum. Harry used a Blasting spell to blow a hole in one of the walls on the main floor."

"That's why he tried to do it at the castle," Draco said, more to himself than to Hermione.

She nodded. "Only, the castle was spelled against destruction hundreds of years ago, even as the stones were being laid. The Concealment charms faded, but the others remained intact."

An uneasy silence fell over them. Hermione was clearly dreading reliving the memory, which Draco could understand, but at the same time it was completely lost on him. She certainly had no qualms about rushing headlong into the situations that created the memories she wished to repress.

"You don't have to go in with me, Granger," he said. "I think I can bring myself out when it's done."

She closed her eyes and shook her head sharply. "I need to. I need to see what happened to me from someone else's point of view. Merlin knows replaying my version hasn't done anything but keep me awake at night. Maybe I can get some closure."

"If you insist," Draco said, still sounding uncertain.

"Let's get this over with."

Draco entered the Pensieve first this time. He was sitting on a tree branch about ten meters in the air next to a black hawk he immediately recognized as Absalom. After a second, Hermione appeared on the branch next to him. Despite her insistence, he'd still not quite fully expected her to join him.

A moment later, the sound of stone exploding nearby was heard clearly in the otherwise silent graveyard. It was not far away, and was close enough that Draco could easily see in the bright moonlight. A hole big enough for a man to climb through had just been blown out of the side of a moderately sized, completely non-descript mausoleum.

"Hurry up, Hermione!" Weasley shouted from within.

Potter stumbled out of the hole, covered in dirt, dust and not a few scrapes and cuts. Hermione fell out next, rather ungracefully, followed shortly by Ron. They, too, were covered in white powder, too.

"Ron and I were holding them off while Harry performed the Blasting spell," Hermione whispered. Her voice was strained, her body tense and rigid beside him. Draco wanted to put his arm around her shoulders, but was not sure if the gesture would be appreciated. Instead he asked, "Why didn't you just Disapparate?"

"There was an Anti-Apparition shield about twenty meters in every direction. We checked before we went in."

Quickly, the trio began scrambling away from the tomb, but the vampires were faster. In no time, the surrounded the teens, forcing them to stop and face the attackers back to back. Harry fired the first curse; Hermione and Ron were quick to join in. However, the vampires were much more experienced when it came to fighting (or hunting. Draco shivered.), and they seriously outnumbered the trio. Draco estimated there were about twenty-five in the graveyard; there might have been more inside, too.

It did not take long for the vampires to separate them. It was an intense battle, even just watching. Draco couldn't imagine having had to participate. He had a sudden, new-found respect for Hermione. Even without Potter's alleged imparted powers, she was a brilliant and skilled witch. It looked like she was dancing more than fighting for her life; her motions were so natural and seemingly effortless.

After several minutes of hurling curse after curse that the attackers, Hermione had not killed any, but she had managed to keep all eight of them in front of her. She had her back to Harry, who was about twelve meters away. He had killed two, but still had seven to deal with.

Weasley, who was on the opposite side of Harry, was not doing so well. He was doing so poorly, in fact, that Draco was amazed he was still alive. No sooner had Draco thought this did Ron stumble backwards over a bit of debris from the explosion, and was caught by a tall female vampire.

Hermione gasped next to him as the vampiress sunk her teeth into Ron's neck. The shock of it caused him to drop his wand, leaving him defenseless.

On the ground, Hermione cast _Incendio_, keeping the vampires at bay and gaining herself some breathing space.

Swiftly, the struggle was leaving Ron as his life's force was being drained.

The absence of Ron's voice caused Harry to turn and search for him. He spotted him just as the vampiress let Ron's body drop heavily to the ground in an untidy heap. It was frightening, the alacrity with which Potter summoned his magic. Draco could have sworn he felt it on his skin, even though he was in a memory.

Hermione snatched his hand, nearly crushing it with her grip. Draco squeezed back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"Ron!" Harry screamed, painfully. He expelled the magic with the force of his voice in a blinding flash of white light, just like Hermione's healing spell.

Only this time death and destruction followed, not life.

The sudden silence which settled after the blast was deafening. The magic had apparently been concentrated at his hands, shredding everything from the waist up. Weasley had been spared as he was in an unconscious pile on the ground. Harry stood in the middle, chest heaving with exertion, but unharmed. The vampires had been obliterated, reduced to piles of ash, and for the younger ones, bones.

Hermione, however, had not fared so well. She laid sprawled face down on the ground, unmoving. Her jumper was destroyed, and Draco knew from the scars that the magic had sliced her up like shards of glass would.

Harry ran to Ron when he regained composure, adrenaline giving him strength to weather the massive expenditure of power. Or maybe it did not affect him like it did Hermione.

Rolling his friend onto his back, Harry began checking for any signs of life. He shouted for Hermione. "I need your help! Ron's dying!"

It took him a moment to realize that she was not responding. Harry jumped up and began scanning the cemetery for Hermione. He found her quickly.

"Oh, God," he said, rushing to her side. He rolled her over as well. She was breathing shallowly, but had lost a lot of blood. It was unlikely she would awake any time soon, or without medical attention.

Harry grabbed a nearby chunk of stone and shoved it into Hermione's hand. Then he pointed his wand at it and said, "_Portus_."

Hermione blinked out of existence.

Harry then rushed back to Ron and did the same thing, holding onto his other hand. When the cemetery was empty, Absalom squawked, nearly startling Draco right out of his skin, and flew away.

The memory began to fade to grey, and Hermione drew them out.

Draco stared at her. She stared at the Pensieve.

_So it was Potter's fault._

Without saying a word, Hermione drew the memory out with her wand and refilled the phial before putting the small glass bottle in the letterbox. She closed the Pensieve case and shoved it back under the bed. When she finished, they stood together.

Hermione was looking everywhere but at Draco. She had her bottom lip caught between her teeth so tightly he thought she might draw blood. Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face upward, forcing her to look at him. The night had taken its toll on her; she looked absolutely exhausted.

"Look," he said, "let's go down stairs. I'll make some tea; then we can talk – if you want."

"Okay."

Draco stepped aside, politely allowing Hermione to walk ahead of him. On the second floor, Hermione left to replace the black wooden box in the wardrobe while Draco continued down to the kitchen. While he prepared their tea, he thought.

Now that he knew what happened, he needed to assimilate it with the other information he had gleaned from their behavior and conversations. They were looking for something – three somethings. These items (had Potter said one was a wand?) had something to do with Voldemort, and were important enough for them to risk their lives.

_Not that they're unaccustomed to __**that**_.

Draco also knew that Harry had a hero complex far too large for his small, unfortunate brain. He could see Harry leaving Hermione behind to complete his little quest on his own, but that did not explain why he brought Ron. Of the two, Hermione was by far the more intelligent and talented. She was clever and resourceful – two things neither of the boys were. Hermione and Ron had been both been gravely injured, so why the discrepancy?

No, there was definitely something else going on, some other factor his equation was lacking. Something happened _after_, and Hermione had been picking up the pieces ever since.

Draco poured the tea – one sugar for him, and two sugars with cream for her. One did not eat breakfast with another everyday and not know how they took their tea.

He went upstairs, a cup in each hand, and found the bedroom door opened. Hermione was seated on her bed, looking out the window. She had changed into pajamas, navy blue sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He could see her bra through the flimsy material, but immediately and forcibly threw _that_ thought out of his head. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was the fact that Hermione was wearing pink underwear.

Draco sat next to her, infinitely more aware than he would have liked to have been, and handed Hermione her cup of tea. They sipped in silence until she relaxed a bit.

"I know this witch – a terribly smart girl – who once told me that talking about things make them easier to bear."

Hermione expelled a heavy breath she'd apparently been holding in. "And?"

"And I'm listening."

Sighing, she put her cup on the floor and spun around on the bed so she was facing him. She tucked one leg beneath her and left the other dangling over the edge.

"Where do you want me to begin?" she asked tiredly.

"After."

She barked out a short, bitter laugh. "After? I woke up two weeks later, practically a Squib."

It was Draco's turn to have his eyebrows try to escape his face. The statement did not fit with the powerful woman sitting next to him.

"Whatever Harry did to me, it completely tore down my magic. I spent weeks in the Hospital Wing rebuilding it." Hermione hung her head and stared at her pants where she was distractedly pulling a loose thread from the cuff. "They left before I was discharged."

A fresh wave of anger crashed into Draco. He, too, set his cup on the floor – so he wouldn't crush it in his hand.

_Those fucking bastards._

Draco knew that Hermione would never dream of leaving either one of them in any state other than perfect health. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. "What about Weasley? He almost died, too. Why wasn't he left behind?"

Hermione blushed scarlet and shifter uncomfortably. The old mattress squeaked loudly. She worried her bottom lip briefly.

"There were…extenuating circumstances where Ron was concerned. In many ways his leaving was harder than Harry's."

Draco furrowed his brow, wondering what she meant. The pained expression on her face, however, stopped the question on his tongue.

She shook her head as if to clear it. "But that's not really pertinent," she said dismissively. "It doesn't change anything." When she spoke again it was with a forced lightness.

"I sat my NEWTs at the end of June, and began training with Tonks and Moody about a week later.

"Training?"

Hermione nodded. "Dueling, hand-to-hand combat – basic Auror stuff. It was then that I realized I was more powerful than I should have been."

"How so?" Draco asked. This was getting more and more interesting.

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "The first time it happened, Tonks and I were sparring in the attic. I punched her in the chest and she flew across the room. I'd accidentally put some magic behind it." She paused before adding quickly, "But I've never done anything like I did tonight. It was kind of scary."

"Don't forget reckless."

She stared at her foot, embarrassed either by her actions or by Draco's teasing.

"Reckless, but brilliant. You saved our lives, Granger. You have nothing to be embarrassed about; you should be proud of yourself."

Hermione finally met Draco's gaze. Her dark eyes were shining with unshed tears. The expression on her face was a mix of sorrow and gratitude. "Too bad Harry and Ron don't share your point of view."

She blinked and a single tear slid down her cheek. Draco had seen and heard quite enough. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley did not deserve her tears, or her friendship in his opinion.

Draco reached out and brushed the tear away before twining his fingers in her curly hair. He leaned in close so she could hear him whisper.

"Potter and Weasley don't know what they lost when they gave you up."

He barely registered her sharp intake of breath before he pressed his lips to hers. Hermione responded immediately, hungrily, as though she'd been waiting for him to kiss her. Draco certainly had been. Ever since the steamy encounter in the kitchen, he'd wanted to taste her again.

Hermione opened her mouth, and he slid his tongue inside. She tasted of honey and chamomile. Wrapping her hand around his neck, she pulled herself closer, drawing her free leg up across his lap.

Draco gripped her hip tightly, feeling her tantalizingly smooth skin where her shirt rode up. Wanting to feel more, he slid his hand farther up her back.

Hermione moaned deliciously and arched her back, sending most of the blood in Draco's body southbound. He broke the kiss and placed one, two, three tender kisses along her neck before staring into her eyes. Her chest was heaving with excitement and her cheeks coloured the most enticing shade of pink he'd ever seen.

She looked at him uncertainly, chewing her lip, and searching his face for any sign of rejection. Draco smiled and kissed her once more, briefly. She smiled back, turning his insides to jelly.

"It's late. You need some sleep," he said.

"Saving lives is hard work," she said seriously, but the sparkle in her eyes belied her tone.

"Tell me about it."

Hermione laughed and began untangling herself from him. Draco stood.

"I want a shower," he said. The truth was he _needed_ a shower – a cold one. "I feel filthy; that castle was a nightmare."

"You are filthy."

"You're not exactly a model for cleanliness, yourself, right now."

"Perhaps not, but I can't be half as dirty as you are," she said as she scooted back and tugged the blankets from beneath her pillow.

Draco went to his dresser and retrieved a pair of pajama bottoms. "I won't be long," he said.

When she didn't say anything, Draco turned to look at her. She was already curled up underneath the blankets, facing his bed with her eyes closed. He walked as quietly as he could towards the door, but Hermione's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Goodnight, Draco."

His name had never sounded so sweet before. There was also the fact that his mother and Snape had been the only people to _ever_ use it.

"Draco?"

"It's a bit silly to snog someone and not call them by their given name, don't you think?" she said, opening her eyes. "Besides, 'Draco' sounds so much less… contemptuous than 'Malfoy.'"

"Leave it to you to use enormous words when you're completely knackered."

Hermione rolled her eyes in a very Hermione-like way, but smiled nevertheless. "Yeah, yeah. Exhaustion is no excuse for limiting one's vocabulary."

Draco snickered softly. It was good to see her back to her old self again. Weepy did not suit her in the least, although he could not deny that he didn't mind being her shoulder to cry on. Draco's mind came screeching to a halt.

_So much for keeping it professional._

_You didn't really expect that to last, did you?_

_You are so in over your head._

_Shower. Now._

"Goodnight, Hermione."

Draco left and closed the door behind him, grinning like a sodding idiot all the way to the loo. He could still taste her.

* * *

**A/N: Once again, many, many thanks to Lyr942 for her depthless wisdom and clever ideas. Her guidance is invaluable. And if you liked the kiss, thank princesswendy and Lyr942 for talking me into it.**

**I hoped everyone enjoyed the _long_ stretch of Draco/Hermione action, because up next there's lots of plot. Lots and lots of plot. **

**As always, I would like to thank my reviewers! You're all wonderful, and I can't believe that you've stuck with me this far! I really value your thoughts and opinions, so keep 'em comin'!**


	12. Regrets

**A/N: Hugs to my beta, Lyr942. She's amazing. Not only did she deal expertly with my panic attacks, but she finished this chapter within a week despite the fact that she's over-worked, under-slept, and stressed beyond belief. If you want to make her happy, go read her fic, "When I Needed You the Most" here on **

**Sorry this took me so long (note the above mentioned panic attack). I wrote the first section four times before I finally got it worked out, so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! They keep me going, and I love that so many of you have followed so closely.**

**My best friend drew a wonderful bit of fanart that goes with chapter ten. you can find it here: http:\\la-rubinita(dot)angelfire(dot)com/tbwfanart(dot)html**

* * *

**Regrets**

Monday, September 21

Hermione awoke feeling somewhere between wretched and miserable and altogether displeased with being awake at all. She had far overexerted herself at Tullynally both physically and magically, and Harry and Ron had sapped what emotional strength which had remained clear away. Sometime between her saving their lives and the kitchen she'd become the enemy, someone who could not be trusted and therefore shunned, and it hurt more than she had words to describe.

She was not so naïve as to believe they would have accepted Draco with open arms, but she certainly had not expected them sever their ties with her so completely. It was almost impossible for Hermione to fathom the facility with which they had cut her from their lives. After everything she'd been through with them, all of the trials they'd overcome side by side, how could they leave her again, when they needed each other most?

The night should have been one for celebration. They'd found another Horcrux, leaving only one more besides Nagini, and Hermione had a really amazing lead on its location. Harry and Ron were home, alive and in once piece. An ally had been made in Absalom, even if the boys didn't view it that way, and to top it all off Hermione had, by some incredible stroke of luck and massive amounts adrenaline and determination, become an Animagus. Instead she'd ended up sobbing into Draco's neck, making a complete fool out of herself.

Hermione felt extremely embarrassed by her behaviour the night before. She _hated_ crying, but she hated even more the fact that Draco had borne witness to her little break down. And now he knew the secret behind the Trio's falling out. Would he think her weak for it? Would he think her an idiot for remaining as fiercely loyal to Harry as she had been, even if he had treated her worse than rubbish? But worst of all, would he have any regrets?

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Hermione burrowed her face into her pillow. If she thought about it hard enough, she could almost feel his lips on hers, his tongue exploring her mouth, the feel of his hands on her skin, in her hair. She remembered the tender but burning kisses he placed on her neck and the way he smiled when he said her name. She didn't think she could bear it if he regretted it, any of it. Draco had somehow known exactly what she needed to hear, just how to comfort her. What would she do if he told her it was all a mistake made in the heat of the moment?

Hermione's brain was making her nervous which, in turn, was making her belly do all sorts of summersaults and acrobatic stunts. She took several deep, calming breaths in an effort to still her runaway stomach.

_Honestly, don't you think you're being a bit ridiculous?_

_Don't you ever have anything constructive to say?_

_Generally, no. _

Hermione growled at herself and rolled over. She was so busy chastising herself for her mindless insecurities that it took her a full minute to realise that Draco's bed was made and he was gone. She was a light sleeper and an early riser; how had he gotten past her unnoticed?

Her heart rate quickened with apprehension when the thought crossed her mind that he wasn't just gone, but _gone_. Thankfully, the rational side of her brain stepped in just in time to remind her that that was absurd. Draco was a wanted man, still, and had few options other than to remain at Grimmauld Place, even if he did regret what happened last night. With a sinking feeling, Hermione decided she did not know which would be worse: having Draco flee the scene, or having to work with him with all the added tension. Because there wasn't enough of that already.

"Now I really am being ridiculous," she mumbled to herself.

Knowing that there was absolutely no hope of returning to sleep, Hermione threw off her covers and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her entire body protested movement; her arms, legs, and back were stiff and sore and the dull throbbing that had begun behind her eyes was impossible to ignore. Neither was the rumbling in her stomach.

Vowing to put her misgivings behind her until after breakfast (she always thought better on a full stomach than an empty one), Hermione first went to her room to gather an outfit for the day, and then to the lavatory to shower. Running the hot water, she removed three glass phials from the cupboard, a muscle relaxing potion, a headache potion, and a bottle of Pepper-Up, and took a small sip from each. She normally forwent potions in favor of healing naturally, but she and Draco were supposed to have their first day of training together with Moody and Tonks today, and she did not want to be dead on her feet for the lesson. Draco had a lot of catching up to do and she could not allow him to beat her either dueling or sparring.

She emerged a half hour later, feeling almost normal and mostly ready to face the day. She was comfortable, having opted for black track pants with a matching jacket tied about her hips and a royal blue tank top instead of her usual jeans and a t-shirt, and her still damp hair was twisted up into a messy bun. Her holster was strapped in place on her right forearm and her wand secure. Hermione trotted lightly down the stairs and took a bracing breath before she pushed the kitchen door wide open.

Hermione did not quite know how to react when she saw that Draco was not sitting at the table. There was, however, a bagel with jam on a napkin and a cup of already prepared tea sitting in front of the seat she usually sat in for meals. A small smile fluttered across her lips when she saw one word written on the napkin in Draco's neat, round script: _Library._

Gathering her breakfast, Hermione exited the kitchen and climbed back up the stairs. The library door was not latched securely, so she nudged it open with her foot and peered inside. Draco was sitting at the end of the table she usually used for research with his nose buried in a book and his knees propped up on the edge of the table. He sipped absently off his own cup of tea, his eyes never leaving the page. Hermione simply stood in the doorway watching him for a moment, nervous all over again and completely unsure of what she should say.

Their first kiss (the idea that she was now able to number their kisses was still a bit strange) had occurred and ended so abruptly that Hermione had brushed it aside, discounting its significance for the circumstances which surrounded it. But last night, their second kiss, had been… important. Last night, everything in her life had shifted, taken two giant steps to the left and she could not help but feel off balance. Draco was doing strange things to her.

She shifted her weight to the other foot, causing the floor boards to creak. Draco looked up, his eyes meeting hers from across the room before his lips tugged upward in a small smile.

"Good morning," he said as he set his cup on the table and began clearing off the space to his right.

Hermione returned his smile. "Morning." She crossed the room and sat down, placing her breakfast on the table.

"Did you sleep well?" Draco asked.

"Well enough," she admitted. Hermione curled her legs underneath her and rested her weight against the narrow wooden arm of the chair. "You weren't there when I woke up."

"I couldn't sleep, had too much on my mind."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

_Gods, this is painful._

"How long have you been up?"

Draco glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was half ten already. Hermione hadn't realised she'd slept so late.

"Almost four hours."

Silence. Hermione took a bite of her bagel and tried to chew as quietly as possible, but it sounded like an ocean crashing in her ears. Draco was watching her, and it was driving her mad.

"Has Tonks been by?" she asked after swallowing her food.

"Yes," he said. "She and Moody came by about an hour and a half ago."

"Why didn't you wake me? We were supposed to begin training together today."

"I told them that you'd had a long night and needed a couple extra hours of sleep."

"What did they say?"

"Moody said they'd be back after lunch, and my charming cousin told me she hoped I showed you a good time last night."

Hermione choked on her tea and began coughing.

"I swear I wonder that we're even related sometimes," Draco said nonchalantly. He set the book he'd been reading on the table and turned the page.

Hermione was blushing furiously and plotting Tonks' demise. She looked at Draco, who was now at least pretending to read the words in front of him. "I hope you said something to the contrary," she said once she got her breath back. Draco smirked, which concerned her. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I never kiss and tell."

Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "Have you any idea what you've done?" she asked. "I am _never_ going to hear the end of this. Half of the Order is going to think we're shagging by the end of the week."

Draco looked up at her through his platinum fringe, causing that annoying flutter in her stomach to return with a vengeance. He arched an eyebrow in amusement. Hermione failed to see what was funny.

"Speaking of kissing," he said smoothly, becoming more serious.

"A seamless segue," Hermione quipped in an effort to ignore the butterflies which were quickly turning into knots.

"About last night—"

"Listen, you don't have to—"

"— just wanted to say—"

"— anything. I know you—"

"—don't regret it."

"— just being a friend, and I know it –"

"At all."

"—really mean anything, so you—"

"In fact, I'd rather like—"

"—have to worry about—"

"—do it again."

"—me making a big deal out of it."

"Hermione."

"It's probably best—"

"Hermione."

"—seeing as we're in a war—"

"Hermione."

"—more important things than—"

"Hermione."

"— maybe wait until afterwards, then we can—"

Draco kissed her. He held his mouth to hers until she let her eyes slip shut and her body relaxed, even though her heart was hammering wildly in her chest. When he moved his lips gently, Hermione responded, having completely forgotten what she had been about to say. It was nothing more than a tender brushing of their lips, but Hermione allowed herself to be lost in the sensation, if only for a moment. She brushed her fingertips across his cheek and he pulled back. When she opened her eyes and found herself staring into his.

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk far too much?" he whispered against her mouth.

"All the time." Hermione swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. "Draco, I—"

"You do realise there might not be an 'after,' right?"

"That's why we need to focus on _making_ an after," Hermione said emphatically. "Distractions cause mistakes, and we really can't afford to make any."

Draco sat back and studied her intently. "Do you honestly think that either of us are going to be able to just ignore this…" he gestured helplessly between them, "this, whatever this is?"

"I'm not saying we should ignore it, I'm saying we should acknowledge it and file it away under Things We Pursue at a Later Time," Hermione argued. She knew her logic was sound, but couldn't help but frown; the words sounded false even in her own ears. Wasn't she the one who had been worrying about _him_ regretting it? Not that _she_ did, quite the opposite, but—

_But what?_

_I'm prioritizing._

_Really? Because it sounds as though you're running away like a scared little girl…_

_Are all inner voices as terminally disobliging as you are?_

_Only when we're ignored so frequently._

Draco was scowling. "What are you afraid of?"

"Why _aren't_ you afraid?" Hermione snapped.

"Who said I wasn't?"

Silence fell between them, and when Hermione could no longer take it, she stood and began pacing. Her chest hurt. It was like her lungs couldn't get enough air in them. She hadn't been expecting Draco to fight for them. He'd let all of the other things that had happened between them in the past few days go with a grain of salt, and she'd figured he'd be more than willing to do the same this time around. What did he want from her?

"I still don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?" he said, rising from his seat as well. "Because I'm me and you're you?"

"Yes."

"Because of those _stupid_ arseholes who used to call you their friend?"

Hermione winced. "Yes."

"Because we _are_ at war, and either one of us could die at any time?"

"Yes," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Well, all of that will be true whether we give this a chance or not, so, I repeat: What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know." She began pacing again.

"What are you afraid of?" Draco said, louder this time.

"You!" Hermione shouted, halting her nervous motions and turning on him. They both paused as soon as the word left her mouth. Hermione herself hadn't even known she was going to say it until it was already past her lips and beyond redemption.

"Because you _are_ you and I _am_ me, and you use people and I never figure out I'm being used until it's too late," Hermione said harshly. She had a sudden moment of clarity where she realised she _was_ afraid, terrified even.

"I have no way of knowing that you won't just toss me aside as soon as you're done with me, or turn your back when things get hard, because it will be. It will probably be one of the hardest things you've ever done because we fight like cats and dogs about _everything_, and I can count the things we agree on with one hand, because I talk too much and you say as little as possible, and neither of us will ever be able to provide something even resembling normalcy for the other.

And because I will _not_ be a mere convenience for you! I will _not_ be discarded; I am bloody well _sick_ of being abandoned, and right now, you're pretty much all I have. I don't know whose twisted idea of a joke this was, but it's true, and I can't do it again – I _won't_ do it again. So—"

"So, basically, you'll trust me with your life but not with your heart," Draco snapped, showing the first signs of agitation since they began the conversation. He turned away from her, raking his right hand through his hair before turning back to face her.

She caught a glimpse of the labyrinth tattoo on his wrist and felt a sharp pang of guilt. He'd already done so much to prove he was trustworthy, but she couldn't help it. She was terrified of pursuing anything other than a platonic friendship, especially with him.

"Lives end, Draco," Hermione said, more softly this time, but just as passionately. "I could fall down the stairs on my way to lunch and break my neck, a Death Eater could pop out from around a corner and I'd barely have time to see the green flash before I hit the ground, I could be hit by a bus on my way to the grocer's, and my life would be over between heartbeats," she snapped her fingers, "just like that. Gone."

Hermione closed the space between them until she was but a few inches away and then forced herself to meet his gaze. She refused to look away, as did Draco while he waited for her to continue.

"Hearts don't die. Hearts break; hearts shatter into pieces so small you could spend the _rest_ of your _life_ trying to put them back together and you still might never find all of them. Lives end and there's nothing; hearts break and you have to live with the pain of knowing that someone didn't respect you enough, didn't love you enough to not do that to you."

"You're not the only one who's been broken, Hermione," Draco responded, his voiced edged with melancholy. She felt another stab of guilt. "The Dark Lord—"

"Voldemort," she interrupted.

"Voldemort," he said, with difficulty, "threatened to murder my mother in the most exquisite fashion if I didn't kill one of the greatest wizards of all time. When I failed, he ordered Lucius, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, my _family_, and one of their sadistic friends to murder me and bring him my head on a pike.

"All of my friends are now my enemies, kids I grew up with - they're all standing on the opposite side of this huge neon line that I straddled until I fell over onto your doorstep. I watched Lucius _beat_ my mother my entire life only to have her risk everything by trying to end a war that she never wanted in the first place.

"Snape vowed to protect me, and he _died_ for it. I can't tell you how many times he's saved my hide; I wouldn't have lasted one week without his help, and I still nearly lost my life. I am the biggest disappointment the Malfoy line has ever seen, and there's still a fifty percent chance that I might become a werewolf, because life's just shitty like that.

"So, please, don't – _uff,_"

Hermione flung herself at Draco, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body flush with his. He stumbled under her onslaught, but maintained his balance. She could have sobbed when he wrapped both of his arms around her waist and squeezed back. Hermione was trembling, but Draco was too, and they held each other so tightly she wasn't sure where she ended and he began.

She just couldn't take it anymore. No one their age should have seen the horrors they'd seen or have done the things they'd had to do. They should be panicking over their career choice or if they'd ever marry and have children, not wondering if a Death Eater was finally going to hit the giant red target painted on their backs. Stupid Voldemort and his stupid war, and Hermione was _sick_ of doing everything alone, and if Draco was, too, then what was the harm in them being alone together?

Hermione pulled back and slid back down to the flats of her feet. Draco readjusted his grip, but held her just a securely, and she moved her hands to his biceps. Her head only came to the middle of his chest, so she rested her forehead there and took a deep breath.

"Draco, I—," she paused, collecting her thoughts. "Just promise me when you leave, you'll give me the benefit of telling me instead of skipping out in the middle of the night without so much as a note."

Draco hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so he could look into her eyes. "Is that a yes?"

"That's a let's see what happens. That's a let's learn how to be friends before we break something before it's whole. We don't force it or fight it – just, go with it."

Draco smiled down at her, causing Hermione's lips to twitch in a smile of their own. She had to admit she was a bit proud of them. They'd been screaming at each other a minute ago and it had not ended with one assaulting the other, or her fleeing the premises in a fit of rage. They had actually managed to talk something out like adults.

"I think I can go with that," he said.

Hermione's stomach rumbled loudly in an effort to remind her that she'd only had one bite of her bagel and completely ruining the afterglow of their accomplishment. She gave his arms one more quick squeeze before stepping back and sitting down. Draco let his hands linger on her bare arms making her break out in goose bumps.

"Now that _that_'s out of they way," she said lightly as she picked up her tea for another sip, "where were we?"

Draco sat. "Well, you were about to eat the breakfast that I so painstakingly prepared for you, and I was pouring over all this literature you have pertaining to Horcruxes and wondering why you, of all people, would be researching them so thoroughly."

Hermione choked on her tea, again, this time spewing some across the table. Coughing, she grabbed her napkin and began wiping it up.

Draco crinkled his nose. "Are you going to be making a habit of that whenever I broach a new subject?"

"I – No, you just took me by surprise, is all," Hermione replied.

"The Dark Lo- Voldemort has been making Horcruxes, hasn't he? That's what last night was about, wasn't it?"

Hermione chewed her lip and considered her dilemma. She wasn't supposed to tell; it wasn't even really her secret _to_ tell, but would it count as breaking her word if Draco figured most of it out on his own?

"Your silence is damning," he said.

Hermione huffed.

"The password to Snape's letterbox was 'Horcrux,'" Draco said by way of evidence. "You said you went to Ipswich looking for something important, we risked our lives last night for some wand, and that hag, Fea, is hiding something in Barcelona. I imagine Potter's sworn you to secrecy—"

"Yes, yes, good job," she admitted. There was really no use in prevaricating at this point. "You've once again proven your impressive intellect." Draco smirked and Hermione could not help but return it. "But you have to _swear_ not to tell anyone. If Voldemort found out…"

"We'd be buggered."

"You've put it so eloquently."

"So, how many are there?"

"Seven." Draco's eyebrows tried to escape his face. "Well," she corrected, "there _were_ seven. Now there are only three and we have one of them."

"You've destroyed four already?"

"I've only destroyed one. Harry's destroyed two, and Dumbledore one. That's how he ruined his hand sixth year."

Draco frowned briefly, recalling his own turbulent year. "What were they?"

Hermione took a deep breath before launching into an extremely shortened explanation. "There was a diary, which Harry destroyed second year, there was the Gaunt family ring, Voldemort's grandfather's, which Dumbledore destroyed the summer before sixth year. In the past year, we've hunted down a locket belonging to Salazar Slytherin, which Harry destroyed, and we found Helga Hufflepuff's cup at Ipswich about six months ago. That's the one I destroyed."

"The wand?"

"Rowena Ravenclaw's."

"Barcelona?"

"A dagger that matches the Sword of Gryffindor."

Draco ran his hand through his hair. "What's the last one?"

"His snake, Nagini," Hermione said. Draco arched a brow. "Harry saw Voldemort make it."

Draco shuddered and ran a hand absently across his torso. "I hate that bloody snake. The last time I saw it, she was wrapped around my chest."

They lapsed into silence, Draco pondering the information she'd just shared, and Hermione wondering what the hell was going through his mind. Draco had been officially read-in, but he had yet to respond. The quiet, however, was not uncomfortable, and she took the opportunity to finish her breakfast.

"What are you going to do?" Draco said with something that sounded curiously like resignation, which threw Hermione. It was not a tone she was used to hearing in Draco's voice.

"About what?"

"Potter and Weasley. I give them a week before they come crawling back, begging you to help them."

Hermione shrugged. "I have other obligations, now. They can have my notes, and I'll tell them about Barcelona, but it ends there."

"Really?" Draco asked incredulously.

"I've made my choice, just like they made theirs."

There was another long moment in which neither said a thing as they absorbed Hermione's words. She had _chosen_ Draco, someone who, until a week ago, she'd hated unequivocally over her two best friends. What was more was Draco had, not in so many words, _asked_ her to choose him. She had to admit: Whoever was up there running the show had a bizarre sense of humour.

The clock chimed eleven, startling them both from their thoughts. Hermione stood and pushed her chair in.

"If Tonks and Moody won't be back until after lunch, then we should go to town."

"To town?" Draco said as though she'd just said the dumbest thing in the world.

"Yes, to town."

"Are you trying to get me arrested? Or killed?"

"I said 'town' not 'Diagon Alley.' You need clothes to train in and I need to let a friend know I'm alive."

Draco frowned. "I don't have any money, and-"

"Oh honestly," Hermione said, rolling her eyes dramatically. She grabbed his wrist and dragged him to his feet. "I _promise_ I'll let you pay me back when we've won."

Draco followed grudgingly, muttering to himself the whole way.

* * *

Absalom had spent the best part of the previous night in Severus' cabin collecting his friend's effects and generally removing any trace of the late Potion's Master. It had been a tedious and depressing task which left him utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. It was with a conscious effort that he pushed his grief aside; war and espionage had been Severus' way of life and it had simply caught up with him. Hopefully, his efforts would not be in vain. 

After finishing at the cabin, Absalom had Apparated directly into one of the many and various flats he kept throughout Europe, this one in Lisbon. He chose this particular residence because it was there that he kept his own small Pensieve, and he wanted to review some of his memories from Tullynally before cleaning out his things and abandoning Lisbon in favor of Glasgow. He wanted to be one hundred percent positive before informing the others that he had, at long last, found the great white cat.

* * *

Draco _hated_ side-along Apparition. It always felt like his insides were trying to escape through his fingers and toes. He was also firmly opposed to being splinched, but Hermione pulled it off perfectly. She had brought them to an alley behind an abandoned warehouse about a block from some Muggle bookstore she frequented. 

They walked side by side in silence with Draco wondering exactly what he'd said that had convinced her to not go back to Potter. He'd known she was angry and hurt, but he never imagined she'd turn her back on the four-eyed git. Nothing he'd said had been particularly moving, in his opinion, so he came to the conclusion that Hermione had been on the precipice of indecision waiting for the final push. But still, Draco could not ignore the fact that she wasn't just turning _away_ from Potter, she was turning _towards_ him. He could only hope he wouldn't fail her like he'd failed just about everyone else who'd ever cared about him.

Hermione nudged Draco with her elbow, steering him towards a heavy wooden door painted dark teal, like ocean water. "Here we are," she said cheerfully.

Draco stepped into the alcove and swung the door outward, allowing Hermione to pass beneath his arm. The store was dimly lit and the scent of cinnamon, old leather and older paper washed over him. The walls were the same colour as the door and there were great, shabby armchairs the shade of blood and low tables scattered throughout. The shelves were of the floor-to-ceiling variety with rolling ladders attached to each one so patrons could browse the upper levels.

They were barely five steps through the door when a petite woman with wild red hair and an obscene amount of freckles popped up from behind the register. She looked like a spare Weasley.

"You have a thing for gingers, don't you?" Draco whispered to Hermione.

She responded by lightly backhanding him in the stomach. "Really, Draco, don't be a prat." Then she called out, "Sinead!"

The woman's brown eyes bugged out of her head when she saw Hermione. She crossed herself, forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder, an action whose significance was lost on Draco.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," she said. Her voice was sweet like bells and held a thick Irish accent. Sinead then ran from behind the counter and launched herself at Hermione, who barely had time to catch her.

Draco took an unconscious step to the side, hoping Sinead was not a universal hugger. Hermione laughed and returned the other woman's enthusiastic embrace. He wondered why she was so happy to see his partner. The two girls pulled apart.

"I thought you were dead! I heard about the accident on the telly, and I knew that your parents are in America so they wouldn't release your name and I had no way of contacting you, and what the bloody hell took you so long to get here?" Sinead had to take a deep breath after finishing her tirade.

Hermione laughed again, a sound that made goose bumps chase up his spine. "I swear I was on the complete opposite side of the complex, and I'm sorry I didn't come assure you of my continued existence sooner. I should have at least rung you."

"Oh, bugger it. I'm just glad you're alright," Sinead said with a smile and another hug. "So, what have you been up to, and who's your friend?"

"You know, the usual."

"Saving the world?"

"That's it. This is my friend and partner in crime, Draco."

"Like the constellation?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably; his name was so undoubtedly Wizard and Sinead was undoubtedly Muggle. Did the Irish shopkeeper know Hermione was a witch? He also felt incredibly left out of the girls' rapid-fire conversation.

"It's a family tradition," he said.

"He's not much of a talker, is he?"

"You have no idea."

"Alden brought my bicycle back."

"That's great. Did you get any of those books I asked you for?"

"No, I'm sorry. I couldn't find anything you probably hadn't been through already."

"It's alright. We don't really need them anymore."

"We?"

"Draco and I."

"I am so out of the loop."

"Join the club."

"Can you stay for tea?"

Hermione shook her head apologetically. "We've a full schedule today. Raincheck?"

Sinead crinkled her nose. "I suppose that'll have to do."

The girls hugged again. Sinead extended her hand to Draco. "It was nice to meet you, Draco. Don't let her work too hard, yeah?"

Draco shook the proffered hand and was surprised by the fact that he did not have to repress the urge to wipe his palm on his jeans afterward. "I don't think I could talk her out of anything if she really had her mind set to it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. "Honestly, I'm not that bad."

"If you say so, lovie," teased Sinead.

Hermione turned to Draco who raised his hands, palms outward in a 'leave me out of this' gesture. "You're lucky I like you," she said to the red-head.

"Of course I am. Now see that you get yourself back here in a reasonable amount of time."

"Since I have my orders…"

The three bid their adieus and Draco and Hermione left the bookshop together. It was not yet half eleven (the entire conversation with Sinead taking hardly ten minutes) so they'd decided to walk to the clothing store. Draco was still reeling from his first encounter with the lively shopkeeper.

"What did you think of Sinead?" Hermione asked.

"She's… energetic. Do the two of you always talk double-time?"

"Yes, actually."

Draco wondered if Hermione spoke so rapidly with all girls, or just Sinead. "Does she know you're a witch?"

"No, but I've thought about telling her many times. I think she could handle it, but right now she's the only person who doesn't really know who I am and I never have to talk about the war with her. Just one romantic mishap after another."

"Hm," Draco hummed in agreement. He could see how Hermione would need that break every now and then. She was fighting the war from two different angles. "So, why exactly did she think you were dead?"

"Oh, that," Hermione said, shaking her head. "She thinks I go to the university that was attacked by Death Eaters the other day."

"And she also thinks your parents are in America?"

"My parents _are_ in America. I convinced them to go stay with one of my mother's sisters after St. Mungo's was attacked. I haven't seen them since," she added, almost as an afterthought.

And just like that, the cheerful atmosphere evaporated. They traveled in gloomy silence, each very aware of how the other's actions affected both of their lives. Draco wished, and not for the first time, that he had made a different decision. C'est la vie, right?

Hermione broke the silence first. He realised she hated when it became too quiet. Draco did not look at her as she spoke, but he could tell by the tone of her voice that her brow was furrowed, and she'd more than likely been chewing on her bottom lip until a moment ago.

"There are only two weeks left until the full moon."

"I know," Draco replied, knowing where the conversation was heading, and not liking it one bit. The past seventy-two hours had been so busy with the last twelve being downright insane, that he'd hardly had time to allow anything other than passing thoughts of lycanthropy to clutter his thoughts. "What of it?"

"It's not going to change my decision, one way or the other."

"You can't say that."

Hermione frowned. "It doesn't change my opinion of Professor Lupin, and it won't change my opinion of you."

"That's touching, really, but could we not talk about this right now?"

"Fine," Hermione said with a sigh. "But you're going to have to spend every spare minute practicing to become an Animagus."

Draco ran his hand through his hair. "Well I hardly think this counts as a 'spare minute', so could we leave it out until then?"

He looked over at his partner and recognized the look of stubborn determination on her face. Hermione was also slightly annoyed by his sharp replies. She didn't really want to drop the subject, he could tell, but she did, for which Draco was eternally grateful. Instead she slipped her hand in his and gave it a quick squeeze before stuffing it back in her jacket pocket.

He might just make it through the day without compromising his sanity.

* * *

Narcissa had purposefully kept herself extraordinarily busy during the days since she'd left the meeting with Minerva McGonagall and Remus Lupin. Not that it was hard to find things to do; she just did not want to dwell on thoughts of Draco. Now that she knew where he was and had access to him, it took every ounce of will-power not to rush straight to Grimmauld Place and finally reunite. 

Minerva had told her all she knew about what happened that Sunday night, and it sickened her to hear what Draco had endured. Narcissa had also been intrigued by Draco's saviour's identity. The Granger girl had been attached to Harry Potter's hip, along with that Weasley boy, since their first year, but Minerva had made no mention of the boys' presence. Despite the girl's unfortunate choice of childhood friends, Narcissa owed her many heartfelt thanks. Nor would she hesitate to do so, given the chance.

They had decided that she should only go to Grimmauld Place incase of an emergency. It was hard, waiting, but she could be patient for a while longer. Instead, Narcissa spent her hours making her flat a home and planning her next move. She still had her Black accounts, so she was not dependent upon Lucius for funds, half of which she'd had converted to Muggle currency.

Narcissa had debated long and hard as to where she should hide after leaving the Manor and had decided that, while she knew very little about the Muggle world, it would be far safer than any Wizarding community would be.

Andromeda once told her that Bath was a lovely city. She was right. It was quieter than London, but still large enough to provide her with the necessary anonymity. Her land-lady was a kindly older woman with a friendly face who was more than willing to provide Narcissa with lodging, especially after she paid for the first three months' rent upfront.

Her flat was now comfortably furnished with newly acquired furniture and no longer held a vacant air. The common area was decorated in rich reds and browns, as was the kitchenette. Her private quarters were done in beautiful shades of plum and lavender; she'd always loved the colour, but Lucius had never allowed it, even in rooms that only she used. There was not, by happy coincidence, one single black item; black belong to the Dark Lord, to Lucius, and she wanted nothing to do with it.

Except for her Death Eater's robes, of course; she still had those. For days she had been anxiously waiting – and preparing – for when she would next feel the harsh burn of the Dark Lord's summons. Gaining the Order's support had been a huge victory and it would greatly aid her endeavors, but it still had only been half the battle. She was now in far more danger than ever before and would have to be most cautious in all of her decision making.

There was a very good chance that Narcissa's true loyalties had been revealed; if her strangled confession had not made it back to the Dark Lord by now, it certainly would not be long. Going back to the Death Eaters could very well prove a fatal mistake, but there was information to be gathered and she would risk it for Draco's sake.

It was that Monday night just as Narcissa sat for dinner that the Mark called. She hissed in pain, her fork clattering to her plate as liquid fire chased up her arm. She pulled back the sleeve of her crimson robes, revealing her tattoo black and alive with magic. It was time.

With only a moment's fearful hesitation, Narcissa went to her bedroom to change, glamouring her hair a deep chocolaty brown as she went. This time she also changed the colour of her eyes from clear blue to a completely nondescript brown. She would be hooded and masked, but wanted to take no chances. So disguised, she could linger near the rear and hope that the sheer numbers of Death Eaters present would conceal her presence. With any luck, the meeting would be of enough importance as to deem her absence at Lucius' side inconsequential. It was not likely, but she could hope.

Cloak draped across her delicate shoulders, hood drawn and mask in place, Narcissa Apparated to the Avery residence. She reappeared moments later less than one hundred meters from the Dark Lord's haunt of choice for the past several months. Avery was not so infamous as to draw undue attention from the Ministry, but was rich enough and loyal enough to deserve the honour.

A dozen other Death Eaters arrived at approximately the same time. They walked to the house in an unintentional group and entered through the front door which was held wide open by a quaking House Elf. Another five minions arrived during her short trek.

Narcissa strode purposefully down the halls with her head held high and with an unapproachable air about her. She was a bit surprised at how calm she felt walking into the gloomily lit ballroom full of masked witches and wizards who had become her enemies just a few short days ago.

The Dark Lord had been busy since his return. Four years ago, Death Eaters numbered less than fifty; two years ago the ranks had doubled to one hundred. There were now easily two hundred congregated in the spacious room, and Narcissa had little doubt that there were more scattered all over Britain and the continent on various errands for their master.

At the far end of the room stood an ostentatious chair so large and ornate it could rightly be labeled a throne. Wormtail cowered, maskless, on the floor beside it, and a large woven basket was placed on the other side – no doubt Nagini's reserved seating.

The seven Death Eaters standing in a group conversing quietly nearby were familiar and easily recognizable. Two sets of broad, beefy shoulders identified Crabbe and Goyle. Bella stood out among the group, being head and shoulders shorter than the men. She stood next to an obscenely tall man Narcissa recognized as Rodolphus, and an only slightly shorter man whose robes could not conceal his dangerously lithe form. Antonin Dolohov was fit for his fifty-five years and just as deadly.

Last was Lucius. He stood imperiously before the others, holding a goblet of some liquor in one hand and his signature cane in the other with his white-blonde hair spilling over his shoulders. His presence demanded attention and the others gave it willingly. Death Eaters were addicted to power and Lucius had it aplenty. Even without the Dark Lord's favor he was a dangerous man.

Narcissa's heart skipped several beats when Lucius looked up from the conversation and fixed his gaze on her. The silver mask he wore hid his face, but there was no doubt in Narcissa's mind that his steely grey eyes were boring into hers, chilling her to the bone. She shivered involuntarily; the last time she'd seen him he'd had his hand wrapped around her throat.

Then, mercifully, Lucius lifted his penetrating glare and acknowledged a small commotion developing behind her near the entrance. Narcissa released a breath she hadn't realised she was holding and turned to see what the fuss was about. A murderous rage filled her up when she found the source of the scene.

Fenrir Greyback had arrived, snarling ferally. He had a young Death Eater by the front of his robes and had lifted him about twenty centimeters off the floor. The young man was gripping the werewolf's wrists in an effort to support himself and was swinging his legs in terror. A few of the nearest Death Eaters drew their wands defensively, most likely the youth's friends, but most backed away, giving them their space.

"I've done more in the service of your master than you could ever hope to achieve, you useless child," Greyback growled, giving the boy a vicious shake. The silver death mask clattered to the floor, revealing the face of Blaise Zabini, his face frozen in abject terror. "Mind your tongue, or it will be you I come after next full moon. You wouldn't want your precious blood tainted, would you?"

Blaise's cocoa skin paled considerably at the werewolf's overt threat. It was common knowledge that Greyback was nothing if not a man of his word.

However, before Blaise could stutter out a response, a woman entered behind the pair. Every eye in the room, including Narcissa's was fixed on the dark beauty. The ballroom fell silent.

She was as tall as Greyback, but held herself with an aristocratic poise. Dressed in leathers so dark they matched her skin, she looked like a bit of night come alive. However, her most striking feature by far was her eyes. Pools of liquid gold, they glittered dangerously in the torchlight.

She observed Greyback and his prey with cool disdain, a disgusted sneer twisting her full lips. "'Ones'ly, Greyback," she said, her voice thick with some exotic accent. She did not even bother to hide her contempt for the man. "Simply because you become an animal once a month, does not mean you must behave as such continuously. Your fits of rage are shameful to us all."

Narcissa was definitely intrigued. Who was this strange woman who had no fear and little respect for Fenrir Greyback? Where did she come from? What had she done to merit an invitation to a Death Eater meeting?

Greyback snarled once more before tossing Blaise aside like a rag doll. The boy skidded across the marble floor towards his friends. One of them stooped and helped him to his feet. Even after being thoroughly manhandled by the werewolf, Blaise still managed to colour his face with haughty indifference.

Greyback, however, turned to the dark woman, completely forgetting about Blaise. He looked positively apoplectic. Narcissa's fingers began inching towards her wand, almost against her will.

He closed the distance between himself and the woman in two large strides. Nose to nose and toe to toe, the woman remained unfazed.

"Let us skip zis, shall we?" she said, sounding unbelievably bored. "I have better uses for my time zan to listen to your impotent threats."

Greyback's bulky frame was quaking with rage. "You speak as though you're better, like you're different than I am," he snarled. "You're neither."

Her eyes narrowed, making her appear even wilder. "Ze difference between you and me is my pack respects me; yours fears you. We are nozing alike."

Narcissa watched with renewed interest. This woman was the leader of her own pack of werewolves. Had she sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord? Narcissa was curious as to how many more had been added to Greyback's number.

"Fear, respect – they are the same," Greyback hissed.

The woman sneered again and shook her head slowly. "If I were to kill you, your pack would crumble, scatter and bicker and fight and kill one anozer. If you killed me," the tone of her voice suggested this was ludicrous, "my pack would seek revenge."

"When this is over, _woman_," Greyback spat, "I will feast on your flesh; I will drink of your blood. You will learn why I am feared."

She was nonplussed. "You cannot 'arm me."

Then she simply walked past him. Greyback glared daggers at her retreating form. It was obvious that he was unaccustomed to such blatant disregard for his position, especially from a woman and Narcissa loved it. She couldn't help but feel vindictive towards the werewolf. He had, after all, taken the life of a dear friend and almost ended Draco's as well.

Greyback growled audibly before following the other woman to the front of the room. She stopped not five paces from Lucius and his cronies; Greyback walked past the group to glower in the shadows. Lucius handed his goblet to Crabbe (or Goyle, Narcissa couldn't be sure which was which) and moved towards Greyback, when the doors positioned behind the throne crashed open and the Dark Lord entered with a dramatic flourish of his robes and Nagini following closely.

Everyone but Wormtail dropped to one knee; the rodent-like man scurried off to close the doors before returning to his master's side. Nagini curled up in the basket with her head hanging over the edge so she could observe the crowd. Lord Voldemort sat in the chair and took in the cloaked congregation.

"Rise," he commanded, the noise sounding more like a high pitched hiss than a word.

Narcissa felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She sought out her husband and sister, but the crowd had filled in between them, blocking her line of sight. While the other Death Eaters were settling themselves, Narcissa moved closer to the front in order to better hear and see the inner circle. No one paid her any heed; all eyes were on the Dark Lord.

"Yaxley, report," he ordered. "Where is Potter?"

A Death Eater stepped forward. "We tracked him to central Ireland, but then the trail disappeared. We've yet to pick it up again."

Lord Voldemort looked troubled by this, but a quiet hiss from Nagini cut short any violent outburst that might have been brewing. "Do not rest until you find him."

"Yes, my lord," Yaxley replied. He bowed his head slightly before melting back into the ranks.

"MacNair, I trust you've been more successful?"

Another Death Eater emerged. "My lord, the chieftain has promised his twelve strongest. They await your summons."

"Excellent," he hissed, idly stroking his wand. "Rabastan?"

At this, Bellatrix stepped forward and bowed deeply. "My lord, Rabastan is yet abroad. He sent word that he and his team have been successful in France, Italy, Austria, Hungary, Serbia, Croatia and Bulgaria, and he expects Romania to wield excellent results."

"This is most… pleasing news, but remind him of his deadline. The hour is drawing near that we strike."

"I will, my lord." Bellatrix withdrew to her husband's side once more.

Lord Voldemort fell silent. Narcissa was eagerly committing every word to memory. Death Eaters were not summoned en masse often, and were usually issued orders in a more private setting so there was much information being revealed. She had known that MacNair had been sent to parley with the Giants, but Yaxley's orders as well as Rabastan's extended mission were news to her. She could not help but wonder why they had all been called together this night.

Finally he said, "Sauda, how stand you?"

The dark woman stepped forward, and showed no more respect for the Dark Lord than a slight dip of her chin. She carried herself like royalty and she moved with the grace of a wild animal. "Ze bulk of my pack is gazered here in England, and ze rest are hunting any strays zroughout France. Zey expect to be 'ere in time for the next moon, barring any unforeseen delays." She paused and then added, almost as an afterthought, "My lord."

"I expect to be alerted at once," said Lord Voldemort.

Sauda lowered her chin once more before fading into the crowd.

"Greyback, what news have you concerning young Mr. Malfoy?" Voldemort's thin lips twisted into a sneer and his eyes touched on Lucius' proud form before turning to the werewolf.

Greyback detached from the shadows he'd been sulking in and bowed at the waist. "He has sought refuge with the Order," he growled. "But I _will_ succeed where others have failed."

Narcissa saw Bellatrix reach for her wand, but Rodolphus put a restraining hand on her shoulder and then bend to whisper something in her ear. Bella removed her hand from her robe's pocket, but Narcissa could practically see the waves of outrage radiating from her sister's petite form. If it weren't for Rodolphus, Fenrir Greyback would be a screaming, writhing mass on the floor right now.

"See that you do," the Dark Lord said menacingly. "I want the boy's head before we launch our attack on Hogwarts."

Narcissa froze. He was going to attack Hogwarts. He was going to attack _Hogwarts_. Draco was safe for the time being, so she forced herself to ignore the determined look Greyback threw Lucius, but she'd always assumed that with Dumbledore out of the way the Dark Lord would try to take the Ministry first.

Narcissa's train of thought was interrupted when Lord Voldemort hissed out one word, "Lucius."

She saw her husband tense almost imperceptibly before he swept into the open area in front of his master's throne. The inner circle was in a horseshoe at his back, and Narcissa had to reposition herself again to better see what was going on. Lucius bowed low with his hands at his sides. Nagini raised her head as though sensing some change in her master's demeanour and tasted the air around them with her bifurcated tongue.

"Yes, my lord?" Lucius said, his voice flat.

"Where is your blood-traitor wife?"

"I know not, my lord. She has fled."

"How, Lucius, can I trust you to do your job, if you cannot even control a weakling like Narcissa?"

"My lord, it was my intention to seek her out and bring her before you myself."

"Your family has become most… problematic."

"My family may be weak, but I remain your most loyal serv-"

"_Crucio!"_

Narcissa winced as Lucius screamed in agony. The force of the spell knocked him back several feet where he lay on his back, writhing as hot knives flayed skin from muscle. Narcissa knew well what he was enduring.

The Dark Lord held the curse for a full minute before releasing Lucius to pant and twitch on the floor. He stood and walked to the once proud man's prostrate form. Lucius had rolled onto his stomach, and Lord Voldemort flipped him to his back with a swish of his wand.

"'Tis a terrible shame that I should see the end of such an old pureblood family, but the Malfoys have failed me too many times."

With a flick of the Dark Lord's wand, Lucius' mask vanished. He then addressed the other Death Eaters, "See, and know this will be your reward for failure!"

The sequence of events that followed took mere moments to pass, but seemed in slow motion. With a maniacal light in his red eyes, Lord Voldemort raised his wand at Lucius, but uttered the curse just a moment too late.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Lucius plunged his hand into a pocket and disappeared in between breaths. The Killing Curse scorched into the marble floor before ricocheting upward and striking Goyle (or Crabbe?) squarely in the chest. The man's bulky frame collapsed in an untidy heap on the floor. Everyone in the room froze for a moment that felt like an eternity. Narcissa felt sick, realising they had been summoned for the sole purpose of witnessing her husband's death. Lucius had elected to save his own hide instead of sacrificing this life at his Lord's whim. She never would have guessed.

The Dark Lord let out a piercing, unearthly shriek before storming over to Antonin Dolohov. With a strength that belied his withered frame, he picked Antonin up by the front of his robes and held him eye to eye. "Find him, and put him out of my misery."

Tossing Antonin to the ground, he spun on a heel and exited the room, a hissing Nagini and a cowering Wormtail in tow. For almost a minute, no one moved. Narcissa desperately wanted to leave, but did not want to draw attention to herself by being the first to make for the exit. Crabbe was the first to move, dropping to his knees at his friend's side. Then it was like everyone began moving at once. Some made for the door, other sought out comrades, and Narcissa realised she was much farther from the exits than she'd like to be.

Forcing her feet to function, Narcissa began weaving her way through the throng towards the back of the ballroom. She had made it out of the room and was in the hallway that led to the front door when a firm hand grasped her elbow and steered her towards another door on the side opposite. It was a parlour of some sort, and the only source of light came from the small fire crackling in the hearth. The door clicked shut behind her, and Narcissa went for her wand.

"Now, Cissy, you know you can't fool me," Bellatrix said in her scratchy soprano.

"Bella-"

"I don't know what happened between you and Lucius, but you shouldn't have come here tonight."

"I know, but I had to know where I stood," Narcissa replied, both relieved and worried that it had been Bellatrix and not someone else.

"Rodolphus will be away all day tomorrow. Come by for brunch."

Before Narcissa could reply, Bella was gone. She stood in the dark room, waiting to make sure Bella was far enough away from the parlour before she exited and made her way silently down the hall and out the door. She just barely resisted the urge to run to the edge of the anti-Apparition wards.

She Apparated directly into her flat where she immediately removed her mask and cloak. The night's events had been enlightening, but Narcissa couldn't help but feel dirty. She considered eating the meal she'd abandoned earlier, but realised she had no appetite whatsoever. Instead, Narcissa went to the lavatory and ran a scalding hot bath.

_For Draco._

_For Draco._

_For Draco._


	13. A Family Affair

_A/N: Hello, all. Just a quick disclaimer about this chapter... I'll tell you right now that if this chapter seems cut off, you're right. I added a huge amount to one scene and ultimately decided to make it into two separate chapters. Regardless, I hop eyou enjoy it. _

_Many thanks to Lyr942 for her amazing beta work. She always helps me work out the kinks. -hugs-_

* * *

**A Family Affair **

Tuesday, 23 September

Narcissa hardly slept. She spent the best part of the night replaying the meeting over and over, searching for any shred of information she had missed. Even more troublesome were thoughts of Bellatrix. Bella was obsessively loyal to the Dark Lord and Narcissa was concerned that the invitation might be a trap. However, _not_ going was hardly an option. Were she to skip brunch with her sister, it might alert Bella to Narcissa's double dealings – especially since Bella knew of Snape's Vow to protect Draco. She was crazy, and oftentimes oblivious to the state of things around her, but she was not stupid.

But Narcissa had other priorities. She needed to learn more about the mysterious Sauda, and whatever assignment Rabastan had undertaken was surely of great importance. He'd been working through half of Europe. It would not be wise to allow the Order to be blindsided with his evident success.

The long and the short of it was she'd decided to go. So, at precisely ten-thirty, Narcissa threw a navy cloak over her cornflower robes and Disapparated to the house Bella and Rodolphus had been living in since they broke out of Azkaban. It was not overly large, but since it was just the two of them and Rabastan living there, it mattered little. The size of the house, however, took nothing from its grandeur.

Narcissa walked a short distance through knee-high grass, mounted the front steps and knocked on the door. She afforded herself no hesitation or second thoughts. This was necessary; there were no two ways about it.

The door abruptly swung open and she found herself staring down the length of Bella's wand. She froze, but kept her face stoic as though she'd been expecting it.

"What colour was the stone in the ring mother wore on the third finger of her right hand?" Bella demanded.

"It was a blue diamond, Goblin made. She gave it to Andromeda before she ran off with that Mudblood," Narcissa replied calmly.

Pacified, Bella lowered her wand and stepped aside to allow Narcissa to enter. Once the door was shut, the sisters exchanged a light embrace and pecks on the cheeks. Bella was smiling but Narcissa noticed she did not put away her wand, an obvious testament to the fact that Bella was unsure of her sister's loyalties.

"You look well, Bella," Narcissa ventured.

"As do you, Cissy. Life without Lucius agrees with you."

"No, I love Lucius. It's life without fear of the next beating that agrees with me. I only regret that the Dark Lord had taken Lucius' and mine's marital disharmony as a personal offence," Narcissa said. "I yet remain loyal to the cause."

Bella stared at her long and hard before finally slipping her wand into her robes' pocket. "Most unfortunate," she agreed. "You should have gone to him, told him what you planned."

"Regrettably, hindsight is twenty-twenty," Narcissa replied. She was relieved that Bella had believed her thus far but she did not let her guard down. Their entire meeting would be a test that, if failed, would more than likely result in her death.

"Come, we'll take our meal in the parlour."

Bella turned and sauntered down the dark corridor. Even though it was nearing mid-day, a forbidding shadow permeated the entire residence. Narcissa was grateful she could not rightly discern her sister's sinister decorative tastes; it was certainly Bella's home.

Narcissa followed her to the parlour, which was no different from the rest of the house but for the simple fact that it was well lit. On the wall opposite were two enormous French doors that led onto a stone veranda. The sun was shining through, bathing the spacious room in natural light. On the left hand wall was a tapestry depicting the Black family tree, but instead of branches, there were countless serpents extending towards each name. On the right was a similar tapestry, only this accounted for the Lestranges.

Bella sat at the ebony table in the middle of the room with her back to the veranda and began pouring two cups of tea. Narcissa noted with a small amount of horror that the feet of the table were carven heads of women, mouths open in silent screams, with their braided hair twisting up to form the legs.

Repressing a shudder, Narcissa sat. She unfolded her napkin and draped it across her lap before placing a scone and a few pieces of various fruits onto her plate. Bella did the same. Despite their friendly greeting, they each kept one eye on the other.

"You said Rodolphus would be gone all day?" Narcissa asked, breaking the silence before she herself broke and began fidgeting.

"Yes," Bella replied. "The Dark Lord wishes him to ensure Greyback does not lose his temper and kill that African woman." She said this as though the task was an insult to them, which it probably was.

"Sauda?"

"And all of her filthy, tainted blood," Bella spat. "Disgusting half-breeds, the lot of them. They're lucky the Dark Lord finds them… convenient."

Narcissa ignored her sister's racial outburst; these were normal. "Has she pledged her allegiance, then?"

"There is an agreement, but the terms have not been disclosed to me," she replied bitterly. It would seem the Dark Lord's displeasure extended beyond the Malfoys to include the Lestranges as well. Fortunately for them, their fidelity was not in question.

Narcissa allowed the conversation to die out before she broached the next topic. They ate, with Bella refilling their cups. Narcissa poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice from a silver carafe. Bella seemed to be more at ease, and might be more inclined to let something important slip.

"How fares Rabastan?" she asked calmly, choosing her words deliberately. "He has found success in the south?"

Bella's grey eyes lit up momentarily. "The Vampires have been far more receptive to our cause than we anticipated. With six more weeks, we will have amassed a force that none can withstand."

Bella's maniacal enthusiasm disturbed Narcissa, but it was hardly unexpected or her foremost concern. _Vampires_ were the issue. Rabastan had already made his way through most of south-east Europe, and he still had six weeks until… until what?

"_Remind him of his deadline…_"

With a cold certainty Narcissa realised Rabastan's deadline coincided with a full moon and more than likely the planned attack on Hogwarts.

"Vampires?" Narcissa said. She'd managed to keep the shock from her face, but her voice betrayed her. Vampires were a rarity in England, and few were prepared to fight against them.

Bella frowned. "Lucius didn't tell you?"

"Lucius tells me very little. What information I received came from Severus."

And there it was, her fatal mistake. Bella obviously knew of the Vow Severus had sworn, but she did not know that Narcissa had been in contact with him. Now that he was ousted as a traitor by dying for Draco, Narcissa had irreparably connected herself with him, and Bella knew it.

Narcissa saw a shimmer out of the corner of her eye, and suddenly Rodolphus was standing not three metres away with his wand pointed at her. He had been Disillusioned in the corner throughout their entire conversation. Bella, too, had her wand levelled at Narcissa's face. She did not have any opportunity to reach for her own.

"Hands on the table, Narcissa," Rodolphus growled.

Narcissa very calmly did as she was commanded but her brain was in overdrive, weighing her options. To her right was Rodolphus, the door was behind her, and to her left was a small sofa and two armchairs surrounding a low table. Luckily (and Narcissa was basing this solely on the fact that she was still breathing), they seemed to want to bring her to the Dark Lord alive.

"I am sorry, Bella."

"Shut your mouth, you filthy blood-traitor!"

Narcissa took a deep breath, and _moved._ In one smooth motion she slid her hands beneath the small brunch table and turned it over onto Bella, who clattered to the floor with a shriek of pain and outrage.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ bellowed Rodolphus. His long, gaunt features were twisted with anger, making him a terrible sight to behold.

But Narcissa was already in motion. She dove at an angle over the small sofa, pulling her wand out on the way down. The spell missed by inches and scorched a black line up the middle of the Black family tree, ironically, burning a separation between Narcissa and her sister. With a sickening crunch, she landed on the floor between the sofa and the table with her shoulder absorbing most of the impact.

Immediately, she levitated the coffee table and sent it flying at Bella who was just standing. It crashed into her before she could deflect it. Narcissa stood abruptly. She was shocked to see how much space Rodolphus had covered in the past seconds, but she did not hesitate. He had his wand raised, the tip glowing a faint green in anticipation of the next curse. But Narcissa was quicker.

"_Reducto!"_

The blasting spell hit Rodolphus squarely in the chest leaving… a mess. Narcissa flinched as an arm flew past her. She was covered in his blood from the waist up, but she ignored it. There was still Bellatrix to deal with, and she was a twice the duellist her late husband had been.

"_WHORE!"_ Bella screeched. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Narcissa ducked behind the sofa again. The Killing Curse exploded clear through the wall behind her, revealing the dark corridor beyond. She considered shielding herself and making for the door but, even if she made it, there was still half of the house to run through before she could Disapparate. Unfortunately, the only other exit was behind her crazed sister.

"_Reducto!"_

Narcissa lunged to the side as her cover was converted into a pile of splinters. She threw up a shield reflexively, just in time to block a _Crucio_. Bella was no longer seeking her master's pleasure; she was out for blood. Narcissa tried to regain her footing, but slipped in the blood that covered the hardwood floors before finally managing to get her feet beneath her. Her traitorous eyes were drawn to the morbid scene she'd caused at her feet, but she forced them to focus on the breathing enemy before her.

"_Vulnero!"_ Narcissa cried, sending a jet of purple flame forth from her wand.

Bella deflected it easily, and in the blink of an eye she was eerily calm. "I'm impressed, Cissy," she said with a mock sweetness that made Narcissa's skin crawl. "I didn't think you had it in you. You're darker than anyone realised."

"You thought wrong, Bella. I will do anything necessary if it means Draco can live for one more day."

"I should have known this was about the brat," Bellatrix sneered.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Crucio!"_

Narcissa went down as the full force of Bella's specialty crashed into her. She screamed until the air in her lungs ran out. She felt as though hot coals were being poured over her, scorching flesh and setting nerves on fire.

Above it all she could hear her sister's gleeful cackling.

Eventually, Bellatrix ended the spell and Narcissa's body went slack on the blood-slick floor. Her wand was nearby, within reach to be sure, but she was unable to exercise any control over her body which was still convulsing with the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Breathing heavily, she watched her sister walk through the wreckage of their brunch and over what was left of her husband to loom above Narcissa's prone form.

Bella had her hands on her ample hips and was viewing the results of her handiwork. Narcissa fought against her own mind, trying to push the pain and the fear to the background so she could think clearly. She was staring at the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling, not wanting Bella to see the fear she knew was showing in her eyes. This couldn't be the end. She had to get out, for Draco if not for herself. If only she could reach her wand…

"Tut, tut, Cissy," Bella crooned. "You should have known better than to think that you could defeat me. It's too bad you won't be alive to see what becomes of your failure of a son. I'm sure Greyback will have fun with him. It's not everyday that he's allowed to taste pure blood, no matter how disgraceful it might be."

"We're more powerful than you think, Bellatrix," Narcissa said between breaths. She didn't even care if it was true; she just wanted to distract her sister. "Voldemort will see his end sooner than he thinks, and I hope you're still alive to witness it."

"You dare speak his name!" Bella shrieked.

Time slowed down. At the exact instant that Bella raised her wand, Narcissa swung her legs around and kicked Bella's out from beneath her and knocking her to the ground. Grabbing her wand, Narcissa pointed it at the ceiling near the chandelier.

"_Diffindo!"_ she shouted, dragging her wand in a rough circle around the base of the chandelier.

She rolled out of the way just as it fell with a crash, landing on Bella. Glass shattered on impact, sending small shards into Narcissa's face and hands. Bella lay beneath the rubble, injured but very much alive. Forcing her body to function, Narcissa climbed clumsily to her feet and ran for the French doors. Not even bothering to open them, she burst outside into the crisp autumn morning.

Running a little way into the field, Narcissa turned and looked once more at the disaster in the parlour. Bella was twisted at an awkward angle so she could properly aim her wand at Narcissa. She felt an odd tingling sensation spread across her chest before she spun on her heel and Disapparated.

Narcissa reappeared an instant later in the living area of her flat. Upon arrival, she collapsed onto the floor and simply lay there trying to get her breathing under control again. Tears stung at her eyes. She's just killed a man. Sure, Rodolphus was not her favourite family member, but that did not lessen the shock of ending another's life. How could anyone relish the act?

And she positively _ached_. Her shoulder was throbbing where she had broken her dive over the sofa with it, her muscles were tight and still twitching from the Cruciatus Curse, and there were small cuts crisscrossing her face and hands. Not to mention she was covered in Rodolphus' blood.

Feeling more disgusted than ever, Narcissa prepared to push herself off the floor and take a shower when she heard three distinct _cracks_ just outside of her window. She froze as panic began to consume her. Bellatrix had been left alive, so it was _possible_ that those cracks were the sounds of Apparition outside of her building, but-

The final spell, the tingling sensation crawling across her skin – Bella had cast a Tracking Charm on Narcissa just before she Disapparated. Her flat in Bath was no longer safe. She cursed herself for her hesitation.

It was the scream from down the hall that finally spurred Narcissa into action. She needed to get to Hogwarts, and the quickest and safest way to do that was to Apparate to Grimmauld Place and then Floo to McGonagall's office. She ran down the hall to her bedroom where she had an emergency trunk packed, just in case she needed to flee in a hurry. She shrunk it to the size of a ring box and stuffed it in her robes' pocket.

She Disapparated to the sound of her front door exploding.

* * *

"Be gone, crone!"

Draco was beginning to have serious doubts as to whether he'd been sane when he had agreed to train with Hermione. She was indefatigable, relentless, and just plain better at it than he was. And now she was trying to get him out of bed. Damn her.

"Draco Malfoy, if you don't get out of bed this instant, I'll- I'll-"

"You'll what?" Draco demanded into his pillow.

"Well, to be honest I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but I guarantee you won't like it."

"And I guarantee you'll get it twice as badly when you least expect it," he said, although even he had to admit the force of his threat was somewhat diminished by the fact that Hermione was now attempting to drag him out of bed by his ankle.

"I'm terrified, really," Hermione said, giving up. "And you're rather lucky that Moody and Tonks weren't able to make it until half eleven. We normally begin at nine, and if you don't get out of bed right now, we're going to be late."

Draco groaned. Everything hurt. Because Hermione had felt her magic was still a bit low, they'd spent the entire previous day working on hand to hand combat and not duelling. He was loath to admit it, but she kicked his arse, well and fully. On top of that he'd been up until Merlin knew when using 'every spare minute' to practice becoming an Animagus.

Hermione huffed and walked towards the door. "Five minutes and we're leaving, or you can explain to Moody why you couldn't be bothered to get out of bed by eleven."

Draco lay in bed for three more minutes before dressing and trudging down to the kitchen. After one day spent in the cramped attic, Moody and Tonks had decided to move their sessions to the Room of Requirement. Hermione was waiting for him with a cup of tea all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Draco scowled.

"Here, drink this. You'll feel better."

"You think tea makes everything better, don't you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you always this grumpy in the morning?"

"Yes." Draco drank his tea as quickly as possible and managed to burn his tongue _and_ the roof of his mouth in the process.

_What a super day._

It was eleven twenty-eight when they Flooed to Hogwarts.

* * *

When Draco and Hermione arrived in Professor McGonagall's office Tonks and Moody were already there. Professor McGonagall was also present, seated at her desk and speaking very gravely with Moody. Tonks had been paying attention, but she perked up at their arrival.

"Wotcher, kiddies," she greeted.

"Good morning, everyone," Hermione replied.

Draco grunted.

"You're late," said Mad-Eye gruffly.

"We're two minutes early," Draco said, though his comment was ignored.

"Ah, Miss Granger, have you heard from Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley recently?" asked McGonagall.

"Yes," Draco and Hermione said in unison. Tonks smiled and Draco scowled at her.

"They've been back since Sunday night," Hermione continued slowly.

"Why did you not say anything?" McGonagall demanded.

"We're not their keepers," Draco snapped before he could think better of it. No matter which side of the war he was fighting for, he was pretty sure that there was nothing under the sun that could make him even remotely tolerant of Potter and Weasley.

Hermione elbowed Draco in the ribs. "Ouch."

"What Draco means, is that they've been at the Burrow and we figured they'd say something of the own accord."

Moody grunted, clearly displeased with the boys' behaviour. "Those two act like they run the place."

Draco was shocked. He didn't think any member of the Order would ever say anything negative about their hero.

"Let's get a move on," Moody continued as he began clomping towards the door. "We've wasted enough time today, and I'm not getting any younger."

"Actually," Hermione piped up, "there's something that I need to tell you before we go." She seemed nervous and Draco took an unconscious step towards her. "I was going to say something yesterday, but I was too tired and didn't want to use too much magic."

"Well, out with it, girl. We haven't got all day," ordered Moody.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm an Animagus."

Professor McGonagall stood abruptly. "What?"

Tonks seemed impressed, but Moody was skeptical. "Let's see it, then," he said.

She shot Draco a glance to which he responded by shrugging slightly. Then Hermione closed her eyes tightly and concentrated very hard. Before his eyes she shimmered, shifted, dropped to all fours, and in no time there was a beautiful snow leopard sitting next to him. He took a moment to admire her. He'd witnessed the transformation once before, but it had been dark and a little creepy in Tullynally, and it had been the least of his concerns. Now Draco saw what a stunning animal she was.

Without considering what he was doing, Draco crouched down next to Hermione. She nudged his hand with her broad nose and he let it slide up to scratch between her ears. Hermione closed her eyes and began purring softly, and Draco felt his bad morning melt away. Her fur was so incredibly soft that it was difficult to think about how tired or sore he was, or the fact that he didn't get to eat any breakfast. A small smile tugged at his lips.

McGonagall gasped. "Oh, dear."

Tonks applauded, and now it was Moody's turn to be impressed, an event that was so rare an occurrence that no one was even sure it was possible. "Well done, Granger. We'll figure a way to work this into your training."

Just then, a burst of green flame shot out of the fireplace and a woman stumbled into the room, covered in blood. Everyone in the room reacted, drawing wands, except Hermione, who turned on the newcomer with her hackles raised and her fangs bared. A deep growl reverberated from her throat.

It took Draco several long moments to realise the woman before him was his mother. Narcissa seemed taken aback by Hermione's presence and did not even acknowledge the others. Draco suddenly felt heavy and light-headed all at once. He couldn't breathe, but his chest seemed full. His stomach was auditioning for a job with the circus.

"Mother?"

Narcissa blinked twice before focusing her gaze on Draco. "Draco," she whispered, moving towards him.

Hermione stepped between them with a menacing hiss. Narcissa stopped dead in her tracks, unsure of what to do. Draco was at a complete loss. The last thing he had ever expected was for his mother to show up in the middle of McGonagall's office soaked through with blood. His stomach turned again. He really, really hoped it wasn't her blood.

"Someone ask her a question," Moody commanded.

Everyone but Hermione looked to Draco, who was still in shock. He couldn't get past the sight of her.

"I don't know her well enough," Tonks said unhelpfully. "This one's on you, cousin."

"Will one of you think of something so I can hug my son," Narcissa said impatiently.

The leopard shimmered and Hermione stood between Draco and his mother. Her wand slid out of her holster and into her palm with ease. Narcissa seemed even more surprised by the fact that the leopard was Hermione.

"In Diagon Alley before sixth year," Hermione began, "what was it you said to Harry?"

"I told him that Dumbledore would not always be there to protect him," Narcissa replied with a sigh of relief.

Hermione lowered her wand and stepped out of the way. Neither Draco nor Narcissa hesitated to close the space between them and finally reunite. After nearly two years she was _there_, she was _real_, and she was shaking like a leaf. Draco held her tightly to him, realising for the first time how small she was compared to him. He had to bend down so she could wrap her arms around his neck. He couldn't remember whether this was the case last time he had seen her.

Tears stung at Draco's eyes, and he buried his face in his mother's hair. The tangy, metallic scent of blood assaulted his nostrils, but underneath he could still smell her, warm and soft like vanilla and lilacs. Having her there was so overwhelming; he hadn't expected to become so emotional.

Narcissa finally stepped back, and took Draco's face in her hands. She was crying openly, the tears leaving clean tracks through the grime on her face. "Oh, Draco, are you all right?" she whispered. "They told me what happened…"

Draco smiled softly. "I'm fine, Mother. Are you hurt?"

A shadow flickered across his mother's eyes before she turned to Professor McGonagall. Draco frowned and looked over to Hermione who was watching them solemnly.

"I've been compromised," Narcissa declared bluntly.

McGonagall's lips thinned in a grim line. "Tonks, send for Remus. He'll want to hear this first hand." Tonks nodded and with a swish of her wand a silver werewolf-shaped Patronus leapt out the window. "Miss Granger," McGonagall continued, "will you go fetch Madam Pomfrey?"

"That really won't be necessary," Narcissa said.

Just then her legs buckled beneath her, but Draco caught her before she could fall. As quick as ever, Hermione conjured a chair and helped Draco lower her into it. Hermione crouched in front of the chair and Draco moved to the side. Narcissa gripped the arms tightly.

"I'll take a look at her, Professor, if that's all right," Hermione said.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He firmly believed that Hermione could heal anything, even if she didn't know exactly what was wrong. Her wandless healing ability seemed to be a universal spell, and if the blood covering his mother was Death Eater related she might need it.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to object, but Moody cut her off. "Let's see what the girl can do, Minerva."

Narcissa spoke up again. "It's nothing really-"

Draco placed a gentle hand on his mother's shoulder. "It's all right, Mother, trust her," he said quietly.

Narcissa nodded silently and Hermione took this as the go-ahead. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she began by first removing the blood. Starting at the top of her head and working her way down, Draco watched as the red liquid vanished from his mother's porcelain skin and robes. There were small cuts on her face and hands, but she seemed otherwise unharmed.

Hermione then began drawing an intricate pattern in the air with her wand. This process took a bit longer and by the time she had finished, Professor Lupin had arrived. He was looking rather haggard and slightly out of breath.

"I came as quickly as I could. The Bloody Baron was being terribly recalcitrant." Lupin's feet carried him across the room to stand next to Tonks. "Ah, Mrs. Malfoy," he said upon noticing her. "What brings you here?"

"We're about to find out," Moody said, "as soon as Granger's finished."

Hermione's eyes flicked up and caught Draco's gaze. He didn't like what he saw there. His mother sat proudly with her head held high.

"She has minor lacerations to the face and hands, her left scapula is cracked, and her nerves and muscles are still suffering the after-effects of an exceptionally powerful Cruciatus Curse," Hermione pronounced. "The Cruciatus overloads the synapses and causes neural messages to be sent involuntarily. That's why your legs buckled just now."

"It was Bellatrix, wasn't it," Draco said through clenched teeth. He knew his darling aunt had one of the most powerful Cruciatus Curses, second only to Voldemort, but if it had been him, Narcissa would not have lived to tell about it.

Narcissa nodded once.

Draco turned to Hermione. "Can you?"

Hermione nodded. "I'll need you-"

"I know."

Draco didn't notice the bizarre looks he and his partner were receiving from every one else in the room, including his mother. His attention was focused on Hermione who had gently placed her hand on Narcissa's shoulder and had her eyes squeezed shut in concentration. After a moment, a soft white glow surrounded Hermione's hand, but before it had the opportunity to expand, Draco grasped her shoulder. Her eyes popped open with a gasp as the light flashed briefly and disappeared. Both women were out of breath, and the room was so silent a pin could have been heard dropping.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

Narcissa rotated her shoulder experimentally, and did not even bother hiding her astonishment. "I'm perfectly well, thank you."

Draco was unsurprised to see all of the tiny cuts had disappeared without leaving behind a single scar. He helped Hermione to her feet and kept a firm hand on her bicep should she become woozy as she usually did afterwards. It bothered him that the magic should affect her so when Potter showed no ill side effects towards using the same type of magic. He filed the thought away and decided to talk to her about it later.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked underneath his breath.

Hermione nodded and smiled softly. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks."

Everyone was staring at them.

Tonks turned to Remus. "I thought you were exaggerating," she said in disbelief.

"I thought it was a fluke," Lupin admitted. "I had no idea she'd gained this much control over it in so short a time."

Moody said nothing, but was surveying Hermione critically with both eyes, as though searching for any sign of weakness. Draco had to resist the urge to shield her from his gaze. Hermione squirmed next to him. She was far too modest for all of the attention she was receiving right then.

Professor McGonagall, too, was shocked. "Miss Granger, may I ask what brought this on? I certainly don't remember anything like this occurring while you were here at Hogwarts."

At this Hermione frowned. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I can't tell you that."

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. Potter. "For Merlin's sake," he whispered in her ear, "what difference does it make if they know what he did? It's not like it could ever tarnish their sterling image of him."

"That's not the point," she said hotly under her breath.

"Then what is? Don't you get tired of keeping his secrets for him?"

"I'm not going to hang him out to dry like that," Hermione replied.

"You mean like he did to you? Or have you forgotten so quickly?" Draco really didn't understand how she could be so accepting of their behaviour. Harry had royally mucked things up and he left her behind to deal with the consequences all on her own. Why was she still defending them? "Are you going to let him walk all over you forever?"

Hermione balled her fists at her side, but Draco held his ground. So what if she hit him? It needed to be said, and he had no problem being the one to say it.

"Can we _please_ not have this conversation _here_?" she forced out through clenched teeth.

Moody cleared his throat. "I think Mrs. Malfoy has something she'd like to tell us."

"We're sorry," Hermione said to the room at large. She shot Draco a rather nasty look to which he responded with a smirk. Some things never changed.

Professor McGonagall retook her seat. "Why don't you start from the beginning, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa took a deep breath and began. "Death Eaters were summoned last night."

"Did you learn anything of value?" Lupin asked.

"Yes, much," she replied. "Yaxley has tracked Potter to central Ireland and continues to search for him."

"Harry's safe for now," Hermione interjected.

Narcissa proceeded with a slight nod of acknowledgement towards Hermione. "MacNair has persuaded the Giants to send twelve to aid Voldemort in his final assault. A woman named Sauda has come to his side from France with an army of werewolves. She and her men are staying with Greyback."

"A female Alpha?" Lupin interrupted. Narcissa nodded. "That's astounding; I've never heard of such a thing." Lupin paused thoughtfully. "I trust Greyback is taking it well."

"Indeed," Narcissa agreed. "She is openly disrespectful, and makes her dislike for him quite obvious. She seems a dangerous enemy to have."

"Do you know how many she's added to Greyback's number?"

"No, I was unable to learn that, but she did say that more were on the way."

Remus began pacing, but McGonagall gestured for Narcissa to continue. Draco was committing everything to memory, and he was sure Hermione was, too. He was surprised they'd been allowed to stay, but figured that neither Lupin nor McGonagall wanted to deal with him harassing them for information.

She took a deep breath. "Voldemort plans on attacking Hogwarts in six weeks' time."

Everything in the room stopped. Breathing, pacing, talking, it all crashed to a halt. Draco suddenly felt his hand crushed in Hermione's. He squeezed back, giving and receiving comfort.

All of the blood had left Professor McGonagall's face, and even Moody seemed perturbed by the information. Tonks' hot pink hair had streaks of white now shooting through it. Lupin looked as though he might be sick.

"Are you certain?" McGonagall asked, her voice thin and ragged.

"I am," Narcissa responded grimly. "And Rabastan Lestrange has been in the south recruiting Vampires to the cause. According to Bellatrix, he has been very successful."

The office fell deathly silent once more as everyone digested the information. If it were possible, Hermione's grip on Draco's hand tightened even more. She had her own personal experience with Vampires, something that no one else in the room, with the possible exception of Moody, could claim. Draco had witnessed how dangerous they were through Absalom's memory of the Ipswich incident, and that was enough, thanks very much.

Moody's gruff voice shattered the silence like glass. "You said you were compromised." It wasn't really a question so much as an invitation for an explanation.

"Last night's meeting left many things unanswered, so I chanced a meeting with my sister this morning to see if I could learn anything else. I did learn much, but she had been unsure of my loyalties the entire visit. In the end, I let slip that I had been in contact with Severus until the night he died. She realised then that I'd played her for a fool."

"And the blood?" Draco asked, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Rodolphus met an unhappy end," she said indelicately, but Draco could see the distress in her eyes. She had not enjoyed it one bit, and the deed would most likely haunt her for some time.

"You killed him," Moody stated with disdain. He had a reputation of bringing in Dark wizards alive, no matter the circumstances.

"I did what was necessary," Narcissa snapped icily, her composure slipping momentarily. "It was him or me, and I still had Bella to deal with afterwards. One would think a little gratitude might be in order, considering the information his death bought."

Moody was prepared to retort, but Narcissa turned back to McGonagall and spoke over him. "Bellatrix cast a Tracking Charm on me before I escaped. A few minutes later three Death Eaters located my flat, so I Apparated to Grimmauld Place and then Flooed here to report."

Lupin began his nervous pacing again. Tonks rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist when he drew near enough. "Wotcher, Moony, you'll wear a hole in the rug, the rate you're goin'."

"Someone needs to stop him," Hermione said. Her voice was low and held that dangerous edge Draco hadn't heard since after the Death Eater attack on that Muggle university. "Rabastan Lestrange. Someone needs to stop him. We can't let any more Vampires into England."

"Any _more_?" queried McGonagall. "Miss Granger, what are you talking about?"

Hermione shook her head. "It doesn't matter; they're dead, but we have to stop more from coming. Maybe, _maybe_ we could defend the castle against Death Eaters _and_ werewolves, but not Vampires, too. Not with the numbers we have. The fight would be over almost before it began."

"The girl's right," Moody agreed. "Especially if the Ministry won't back us."

"Doesn't the Department of Magical Creatures monitor Vampire movement in the UK?" Tonks piped up. "Why haven't we heard anything about this?"

"Because the Ministry is more corrupt than you would believe, niece," Narcissa said. "Unless I am mistaken, Augustus Rookwood works in that department. He has been loyal to the Dark Lord from the first."

Tonks frowned. "I'm working the night shift tonight. I'll see what I can find."

"Who should we send, Remus?" McGonagall asked. "The list of people we can spare at the moment is very short."

Narcissa stood gracefully. "I will go."

"Mother!" Draco almost shouted. He'd only just got her back, and now she wanted to run off to the far side of the continent searching for a ruthless Death Eater.

"Draco," Narcissa said soothingly, "there is nothing for me to do here. Everyone loyal to the Dark Lord will have their eyes wide open looking for me, and your aunt seriously underestimates me. She will not expect me to do this. I may actually be safer searching for Rabastan than in England doing almost anything else short of hiding."

"Then hide," Draco demanded fervently. "Stay at Grimmauld Place with us until it's all over."

"I mean to make myself useful, darling."

McGonagall and Lupin exchanged glances. "There isn't anyone else," Lupin said.

"Alastor, could you break the Tracking Charm Bellatrix cast?"

"Aye." Moody withdrew his wand and cast a nonverbal spell on Narcissa. She glowed violet before fading back to normal. "It's done."

"When can you leave?" asked Lupin.

"Immediately. I have some of my effects already packed," she responded.

Draco couldn't rightly believe his ears. Not only was his mother leaving him again, but she was planning on doing so post-haste. He wanted to shake her and demand to know what the bloody hell was in her head.

"I'm going with you," he declared firmly.

"Darling-"

"Draco-"

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"I don't think-"

Tonks snorted.

Moody grunted.

"Don't," Draco said, silencing everyone. "I'm going. End of discussion."

"Draco," Hermione repeated calmly. She reached out and put her hand lightly on his elbow. "Can we please talk about this?"

Draco batted her hand away and pointed a finger at her. "No, Hermione. I thought _you_, of all people, would understand this."

Hermione smacked his hand down. "First off, get your unnaturally long finger out of my face. Secondly, I'm not saying I don't understand; I'm simply asking you to think about this rationally."

"Rationally?" Draco said, his volume climbing. _"You_ want to talk to _me_ about behaving rationally?"

"Don't yell at me," she said lowly.

"Don't be a hypocrite," Draco returned.

"Don't be an idiot."

"How does wanting to protect my mother make me an idiot?" Draco demanded. "You're the one always rushing off to save Potter from whatever mess he's gotten himself into. If that's not idiocy, then I don't know what is."

"Why must you make everything about Harry?"

"Because everything _is_ about Potter with you!"

There was a long silence where Hermione visibly calmed herself. Draco had wound her up, but he couldn't really find it within himself to care just then. He was not going to be dissuaded. Hermione looked around at the various expressions of the others. Some were curious; others confused, while Tonks was just plain amused and looked as though it was taking all of her concentration not to laugh. Before Draco knew what was happening, Hermione had him by the elbow and was dragging him towards the office door.

"If you'll excuse us for a moment," she threw behind her right before she slammed the door shut.

She cast a quick Silencing Charm on the door before wheeling on him. Hermione pinned Draco to the wall on the landing at the top of the stairs by his shirt, which was a little awkward considering she was almost a foot shorter than he was. That fact, however, did not stop the air from being knocked from his lungs. She was stronger than she looked.

"You listen," she said, levelling her cinnamon gaze on his, "I _chose_ you, Draco. I chose _you_. Not Harry, not Ron, you, and I find it most insulting that you continue to doubt me."

"What do you expect me to believe, Hermione? You've had their back since day one-"

"And now I have yours. We've been over this already."

"Then why are you trying to talk me out of this?"

"I never thought I'd have to talk you out of something like this."

"Then don't," Draco spat. "It's not like I'm asking you to come with me."

Hermione's face fell from mild anger to utter disappointment so rapidly he would have missed it had he blinked. She released his shirt as though burned and stepped backward until she collided with the wall opposite. For the life of him, Draco could not figure what brought about the sudden change.

"Of course you weren't," she said softly. "How silly of me."

Were it possible to throttle oneself, Draco would have done so happily. In a half second he had not only threatened to leave her behind, but had all but told her she wasn't welcome should he choose to go. Hermione had no doubt intended to join him, and had merely wanted him to think about his decision before he rushed of like… an idiot.

_But what right does she have to ask me to choose her over Mother?_

_And what right did you have to ask her to choose you over Potter?_

_It's not the same; he's not her family…_

_He may as well have been her brother, and you know it._

"Well," Hermione said, trying to sound disaffected and failing miserably, "it's your decision; I won't stop you if it's what you want."

When she reached for the door knob to re-enter the office, Draco grabbed her wrist. "Hermione, wait. That's not what I-"

"What, Draco? That's not what you meant? I happen to believe that you meant _exactly_ what you said," Hermione spat furiously. "And to think for one _moment_ I believed you had a single sincere bone in your body, that I was so utterly foolish as to trust one word you said yesterday." Hermione yanked her hand from his. "Do whatever you want, since my opinion obviously matters so little to you." Then she spun on her heel and entered the office.

Draco was alone in the stairwell. Until just then, he hadn't thought it was possible for one person to make him feel guilty half as often as Hermione did. In the space of two heartbeats he had successfully ripped to shreds any amount of trust he'd earned from her.

And to what point and purpose? Now that he was – Draco cringed – thinking rationally, he realised that, not only would it be a terrible idea for him to go with his mother, but that he didn't even really _want_ to go. What he wanted was for his mother to be safe but his presence would be, and he admitted this grudgingly, more of a hindrance than a help. His encounter with Fenrir Greyback proved that he was definitely lacking in the self-defence department, whereas Narcissa had proven quite capable. Yes, her cover had been blown, but she had learnt a great amount of information, killed Rodolphus Lestrange, _and_ escaped Bellatrix – a feat not many could claim to have accomplished.

Draco sighed resignedly and re-entered the office. His eyes automatically fell on Hermione, who looked far more composed than he had expected. He was impressed; no-one could say she did not know how to keep up appearances.

Everyone turned to Draco except Hermione; she resolutely avoided looking at him. He wanted to apologise, but his pride would not allow it. While he was not sorry for wanting to accompany his mother, he did feel like a right git for what he said to her. It was only twenty-four hours ago that they had made what he would privately call The Agreement, and he had already almost gone back on it. He did not, however, know how to apologise for one and not the other.

Crossing the room to Narcissa, Draco bent and kissed her on the cheek. "Just promise you'll come back again," he said quietly.

A collective sigh of relief was released, no doubt in thanks that he would not be pitching a Potteresque fit. There was only room enough in the organisation for one drama queen, and Draco was not anxious to claim the throne. Hermione, however, was regarding him with cool incredulity, obviously distrustful of either his words or his motivations. For some reason, this made Draco feel even worse. Despite this uncomfortable guilt, he could not help but feel a bit resentful towards Hermione. She, or rather his inexplicable attachment to her (and he was blatantly ignoring the logic of what she'd tried to tell him), was the only thing keeping him in London.

Narcissa merely smiled sadly and squeezed his hand. Her silence was heartbreaking; she did not want to make a promise she could not keep. There was a very real chance this would be the last time he saw his mother.

"Well," McGonagall said, breaking into their moment, "the only thing to be decided now is how you will be travelling to…"

"Romania," Narcissa supplied.

"I can make a Portkey," Moody said gruffly. He was probably the only one present who had ever been to the country.

"Thank you," Narcissa replied. She addressed McGonagall, "I'll contact you as soon as I know anything. Am I able to Portkey from Hogwarts?"

"No, but you can from Grimmauld Place."

Narcissa nodded. Moody, who had been searching for a suitable item with which to make a Portkey, eventually selected an old and battered quill from McGonagall's dustbin. He cast the spell, causing the quill to glow blue and tremble before returning to normal. Narcissa accepted the Portkey.

"I set it for activate in five minutes."

Draco's heart sank a little deeper. After two years all he had was five more minutes left.

At this point, Hermione, who had remained almost stoically silent, spoke up. "Mrs. Malfoy, have you had any… experience dealing with Vampires?"

"No, I haven't," she replied.

Hermione looked grim. "I'll go back to Grimmauld Place with you; you can have all of my notes."

Narcissa seemed dubious. She was probably wondering what good notes would do at all, let alone the notes of a nineteen year-old girl who had presumably never encountered the creatures herself.

But Hermione was not waiting for an answer. She had that determined look on her face that Draco already knew so well, and he doubted his mother would be able to refuse the gift, even should she choose to do so.

"Why don't you go ahead to the Room of Requirement; we'll be along shortly." Again, she did not wait for a response. Rather, she opened the Floo to headquarters and entered the fireplace with a whoosh of green flame.

"Yes, ma'am," Tonks said, snapping a mock salute at the fireplace. She gave Lupin a quick peck on the cheek and moved to exit the office. Moody followed.

"Good luck, Auntie. See that you get yourself back here in one piece."

Had Draco not felt so utterly and desperately helpless, he might have laughed at his mother's response to Tonks' demeanour. She did take some getting used to. As it were, he feared something other than laughter might erupt should he dare open his mouth.

"Thank you, niece," she replied. "I'll be in touch."

After she'd gone through the Floo, Draco opened it for himself.

"Draco," Lupin spoke up, "don't do anything… rash."

Draco merely smirked and vanished to Grimmauld Place. He'd almost responded with something to the effect of: like Hermione would let me – which was very odd indeed. He sort of felt as though he would need her permission, or at least her blessing. It made him feel unbalanced. Draco briefly wondered if she felt a similar inclination, but decided he really would not be comfortable with the answer either way, and forced his brain to focus on the matter at hand. But Hermione was fighting viciously with his mother for his mind's attention.

The end result was, during the short Floo trip, Draco's mood becoming that much fouler. Ambivalence was a brand new state of existence for him, and he decided firmly (at least one thing was certain) that he hated it with the fire of a thousand suns. Well, that may have been a little dramatic, but it was something solid to hold onto, at least.

By the time Draco arrived in the kitchen, Hermione had returned from the library with a manila folder stuffed nearly an inch thick with sheaves of parchment. She handed the folder to Narcissa.

"That's everything I've learnt concerning Vampires through research and personal experience," she said. "I only hope you won't need it."

Narcissa arched a graceful brow, but did not question Hermione's statement. Draco could practically hear the seconds ticking away. Then, Narcissa did an astonishing thing: she embraced Hermione tightly before pulling back and placing a kiss on each cheek.

"How can I ever thank you?" Narcissa said, her voice a little thicker than usual.

Draco knew she wasn't thanking her for the notes.

So did Hermione. She shook her head gravely. "Thank me when we've won."

Draco marvelled at Hermione's… everything. Her determination, her compassion, her tolerance, her selflessness, her capacity to love and to forgive, her intelligence, her courage, her passion; she was quite possibly the most spectacular person he knew. So much had been said with that simple statement that the urge to throttle himself returned full force. He was such a selfish berk.

Then Narcissa turned to Draco, and his heart broke again. She had that look on her face. That look that she had worn the last time they parted ways, and when Voldemort had first given him that fateful task. It said "I only look brave because someone's watching". It was both terrified and hopeful underneath.

Draco stepped forward and embraced his mother. Beside them, Hermione turned away to allow them some privacy. Narcissa hugged him back tightly.

"Take care of yourself, darling."

Draco's eyes flicked meaningfully to Hermione who had turned back at the sound of Narcissa's voice. "I'll be all right. Please be careful."

Hermione cleared her throat softly, getting both of their attentions. She was pointing to the quill on the kitchen table which had begun to glow blue. "It's time," she said.

Reluctantly, Draco released his mother. Hermione quickly stepped to Draco's side where she inconspicuously fisted her hand in the back of his shirt. If he had planned on sneaking off with his mother despite what he said in the office, she was going with him. Draco couldn't decide if he should be annoyed, insulted, or grateful.

"Good luck, Mrs. Malfoy."

Clutching the manila folder to her chest, Narcissa offered only a small smile in return. Then she closed her eyes and grabbed the Portkey, vanishing before their very eyes. It all happened so quickly that Draco could almost swear she was still standing there. The morning had been so emotionally trying; he had little motivation to feel anything more than stunned disbelief.

When Draco turned and looked at Hermione, he found that he was already being watched. Her face was an open book; every emotion she felt was laid bare before him, but it was as though the words were written in a foreign language. Or maybe there was so much to feel at once that they were all getting jumbled up together.

"She'll be fine," Hermione reassured. "She's stronger than people give her credit for. You _will_ see her again."

Draco knew that she was just telling him what he wanted to hear, but he appreciated the effort. Something like that could never be patronising coming from Hermione.

"Hermione, I-"

Hermione looked away and shook her head, silencing him. "Don't, Draco, not now. I… just leave it, for now."

Then she let go of his shirt and opened the Floo to Hogwarts for the second time that morning. She left him alone in the kitchen without another word or even a solitary glance over her shoulder. He couldn't decide which was worse: her wrath or her silence.

There were many things that Draco did not know, but he knew that he wanted to make things right between them. He knew he didn't want to be alone. He would fix it. Somehow.


	14. Not a Moment's Reprieve

_**a/n: Props to LavenderMe for pointing out that Harry is always carrying on about how 'Voldemort killed his parents!'**_

_**Lyr942, darling, you're amazing.**_

_**There is now a companion one-shot from Harry's point of view to be found in my profile! I hope you all will go read it and let me know what you thought :D**_

* * *

**Not a Moment's Reprieve**

Tuesday, 23 September

Tonks plopped down ungracefully onto the stool that had appeared only a moment before and heaved a tired sigh. She and Draco had been sparring for almost seven hours straight and she was, quite frankly, knackered. Thankfully she did not need to be at work until midnight, which left plenty of time for a kip after supper.

Moody, who was seated beside her on an identical stool, was staring intensely at Draco and Hermione. They two teens were squared off in the middle of the room, preparing to fight for the first time that day. After Hermione's impressive display of wandless magic in Professor McGonagall's office, they had both decided it was best to split them up, arguing that Draco needed to catch up physically and that Hermione needed more practice controlling her magic.

Oddly, neither had objected. But, Tonks reasoned, considering the little tiff they'd had, it wasn't truly surprising. What _was_ surprising was the way both Hermione and Draco had responded to the quarrel. Tonks could recall the way Hermione had always been after a row with Harry and Ron: a little snooty, with a lot of huffing and stomping about until one of them sucked it up and apologised. The Hermione that had arrived in the Room of Requirement had put up a cold façade and proceeded to throw herself completely into whatever exercises Moody had planned for her without a single word to Draco.

And contrite was hardly an expression Tonks had ever imagined on her cousin's normally arrogant or uninterested face. Whatever had happened in that stairwell must have really been a pisser. Continuously throughout their training session, she had caught him stealing glances at Hermione with something unidentifiable written all over his face before it was quickly gone again.

Hermione threw the first punch – a right jab aimed at Draco's head, followed rapidly by a second, and then a left upper-cut to his abdomen. Draco dodged, blocked, and dodged respectively, before spinning to the right and attempting to land an elbow in the middle of Hermione's back. She ducked and spun away, putting some space between them to renew her attack.

Draco had learned early the previous day that Hermione took her training very seriously and he would do well to take _her_ seriously. They had begun tentatively at best. Draco had not been at all comfortable with hitting her but discovered soon enough that he would be lucky to hit her at all, let alone be able to hurt her. Today, they skipped the niceties.

Tonks watched them in fascination. Hermione was almost a foot shorter than Draco but they were fairly evenly matched. She was quick, as small fighters so often are, but he had a natural grace about him that made up for what he lacked in experience. Hermione had been clumsy at first, and her confidence on her feet was hard earned. But the most interesting thing was they way they moved _with_ each other; it was almost as though they were reading each other's mind, like they were following the steps of a dance and not trying to cause the other bodily harm.

"How was he?" Moody asked. His gruff voice startled Tonks so badly that she almost toppled off her stool.

Tonks regained her balance, but put a simple Sticking Charm on the stool's feet so as to avoid such an accident in the future. "All right, I'd say. He's a quick learner; we should be able to catch him up in no time."

"No," Moody said, his voice tinged with exasperation. "How was _he_?"

"As opposed to yesterday?" Tonks queried. She wanted him to clarify before she gave another incorrect answer. Sometimes she still felt like a trainee at the academy when she was with Moody. She was also a bit confused as to why he was asking _her_ after Draco's disposition. Or why he was asking at all.

Moody nodded silently. "Well," Tonks began, "I suppose he's been a bit quiet. And distracted; he's definitely been distracted. Why do you ask?"

"Keep your back straight, Malfoy!" he barked. "Just trying to put the pieces together." Moody turned away from the sparring duo and looked Tonks in the eye. "Something's not stirring the pumpkin juice."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Just a theory."

"Well, read me in."

"I think the Inseparable Trio had proven itself Separable."

"What on earth ever brought you to that conclusion?" Tonks asked, dubiously. Sure she imagined that having Draco around made things a bit tense, but she had a hard time believing that it would be the end of their friendship. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been stuck to each other since they were ickle firsties.

"Follow the magic, Nymphadora."

Tonks ignored the use of her given name; Moody often used it just to annoy her. She was, however, just a bit hacked off that he saw something she was obviously missing, but instead of just telling her, he wanted to play twenty questions. Tonks was a good Auror; she could follow the clues and she was not afraid to do what was necessary, but Mad-Eye was the keenest observer of human behaviour she had ever met, with the possible exception of Dumbledore.

"Follow the magic?" she asked playing along. "Point the way, and I'm on the trail, Mad-Eye."

Moody jabbed a stubby, scarred, calloused finger towards the still-sparring pair. "Granger."

Tonks turned her attention to the girl in question just in time to see her aim a powerful roundhouse to her partner's head. Again, he just barely dodged it, but did not recover quickly enough to avoid the heel of Hermione's hand driving into his chest. Draco landed hard on the mat-covered floor, coughing as the blow forced the air from his lungs. Tonks noted the look of triumph that flashed briefly across Hermione's face, but it was quickly vanished. She waited back a couple of steps, bouncing on the balls of her feet and watched as Draco picked himself up off the floor and took his stance.

"Who else do we know that doesn't know how to control their magic like her?" Moody supplied in Tonks' silence.

"Harry," Tonks said slowly. "Where are you going with this?"

"About how long was Granger in the Infirmary?"

"Again, I don't know where you're going, but six, eight weeks, I guess."

"And she wouldn't tell anyone what happened?"

Tonks shook her head. "Poppy said she wouldn't breathe a word."

"But she's told Malfoy." Moody took a moment to let his words sink in. Tonks thought she was beginning to see Mad-Eye's point but remained silent, waiting for him to fill in the gaps in his theory. "Interesting reaction she had, don't you think, when Minerva asked her about Potter and Weasley?"

"Yes," Tonks agreed. That, she had noticed. Harry and Ron had apparently been back from wherever they'd been for almost two days and Hermione had only mentioned it when asked. "It is a bit odd; she didn't seem to care one way or the other."

"And they're staying at the Burrow, not at Grimmauld Place with her." Moody finished Tonks' thought, pleased that she was catching on. "Which begs the question: What happened between them that Potter and Weasley both would leave her behind?"

"Whoa, whoa, back up. Who said anything about Hermione being left behind?" Then it hit Tonks; _that_ was what Moody had been getting at. That didn't mean that it was easily accepted. Even he claimed it was no more than a theory.

"Look at her, Nymphadora," Moody commanded. Tonks obeyed. "She may have been a bookworm in school, but she's a warrior, now."

"She is about as brave as they come," Tonks conceded. There was certainly no denying that.

"Smarter than most and clever to boot," he continued. "Potter knows how to throw a tantrum but I don't think there's anything he could have said to keep her here while he was out there."

Tonks was flabbergasted; it seemed an impossible thing for Harry to treat Hermione so disrespectfully, but Moody's words had the ring of truth to them. "But _why_?"

"Because I'd bet every Galleon in my vault that it was Potter who put her in the hospital." Moody paused for effect; he could be such a dramatist. "Follow the magic."

Unless evidence to the contrary came to light, Tonks' opinion of Harry had just taken a nosedive.

"Why did you begin by asking me about Draco?" Tonks questioned. It was an odd way to go about bringing up Harry and Ron.

"Because he's the wild card, the catalyst. He doesn't know it but what he's doing right now will affect a lot of people."

"How so?" she asked, truly bewildered.

"Because he keeps her grounded, and Potter doesn't stand a chance without her."

_Follow the magic, indeed._

* * *

Draco was coughing before he even hit the floor. Hermione's blow had landed squarely in the centre of his chest, and it was all he could do to draw enough breath to cough, let alone function. Hermione stood a few feet back, letting him regain his footing so she could kick his arse. Again. Today he was, apparently, a glutton for punishment.

Not that he didn't deserve it this time. He still could not believe he had said what he said earlier that day.

Hermione's hostility was alarming. It gave Draco the distinct impression that she was no longer venting her anger with him but with anyone else who'd ever hacked her off, too, which was very likely considering how Potter and Weasley treated her. She could claim to have moved past it, but Draco knew better. He could see it in her eyes every time someone mentioned them. The hurt they caused her was bone deep and it would take more than a couple of steamy snogs to heal it.

"Are we going to talk about this, or are you going to continue beating me until I'm a bloody pulp?" asked Draco. These were the first words exchanged between them since they'd left the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Her vindictive silence was driving him spare. It killed him that Hermione, the girl who had something to say about _everything_, had nothing to say to him. It was rather difficult to apologise to someone who would only look at you long enough to aim her next punch.

"Get up," Hermione replied, "the sooner you hit me, the sooner we can go home."

Draco took a moment to look at her before pulling himself to his feet and preparing for another onslaught. Hermione looked exhausted; Moody had been pushing her to the limit magically all day and Draco suspected she was still standing by force of will alone. Righteous anger was also an excellent motivator.

No sooner were his feet set and his fists in place did Hermione attack. Draco, still being very new to this and thoroughly worn out himself, did all he could to block her purposeful blows and keep his footing. She had him on his heels almost immediately; he had no choice but to retreat.

But Hermione kept coming. Jab, jab, hook, knee; block, block, duck, block. It was not long before Draco saw the wall approaching in his periphery. He was having trouble devising a plan and defending himself at the same time.

When Draco's opportunity came, he took advantage of it. A scant metre from the wall, Hermione threw another right hook. But, instead of ducking, Draco grabbed her wrist, spun them both around like they were dancing and pinned her back against the wall. She winced on contact, and Draco took the moment's hesitation to snatch her other wrist and secured both of her arms above her head. Their bodies were almost flush against each other and he could feel the rise and fall of her chest on his as they tried to catch their breath.

"We need to talk," he said.

Eyes flashing, Hermione met his gaze head on. "You're a lying bastard and I'm a silly, trusting fool. What else is there to talk about?" She struggled against him, trying to win her freedom. "Let me go."

"No."

With a growl of frustration, Hermione bucked her hips forward, gaining her just enough leeway to raise up her foot and bring it down hard on Draco's. Reflexively, he bent over, only to realise his mistake far too late. Her knee collided with his face in a blinding flash of white pain.

Hermione pushed him away from her and one hand automatically flew to his nose, which was throbbing mercilessly. Thankfully it had not been broken and was not bleeding as far as he could tell, but his eyes were watering and his ego was severely bruised.

Luckily, his wits had not abandoned him along with his dignity. Hermione struck out at him, hoping to catch him off-guard, but again, he caught her wrist mid-swing. And again, he realised his mistake too late. Without even bothering with the smug smile this time, Hermione twisted her wrist in his grasp and gripped his tightly. Spinning underneath his arm, she gave it a sharp tug backward and flipped him onto his back. Again.

But this time, he was ready for what came next. While she had one foot off the ground to roll him over onto his stomach, Draco yanked his arm toward him, making sure to bring Hermione with him. She overbalanced and fell, and in one smooth movement, Draco had her beneath him, pinned in an extremely intimate position. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away.

"Look at me," Draco commanded gently. He was tired of fighting with her.

Hermione shook her head and drew a ragged breath. When she spoke there was a tremor in her voice he had hoped never to hear again.

"Please, let me go."

"Not until you hear me out."

Hermione's voice was no longer the only part of her that was shaking, and she was having trouble breathing, as though she was fighting a losing battle against body-wracking sobs. She finally opened her eyes, but still refused to look at him. A tear escaped and ran down her face to disappear into her thick hair.

"Hermione-"

"Please," she pled, "please let go of me. I need to… I – just _please_ let me go."

Draco obliged, rolling over onto his back and draping a sweaty arm across his eyes. That wretched guilt that liked to camp out in his gut that only Hermione seemed to be able to summon returned with a terrible vengeance. She was crying, and he couldn't blame Potter this time; it was all on him.

The sound of the door slamming brought Draco upright; Hermione had fled. Forcing his tired and abused muscles to obey, Draco stood and went to the back of the room where Tonks and Moody had been seated but were now standing, and where he had left his jumper.

"What was that all about?" Tonks asked, concern etched all over her heart-shaped face. Her hair had turned from its usual magenta to black sometime in the last half hour, and it made her look even more worried. Whatever she and Moody had been talking about while he was getting his arse handed to him on a platter by Hermione must not have been of the polite dinner table conversation variety.

"It's complicated," Draco replied vaguely, tugging his jumper over his head and drawing the hood up to conceal his hair. He really didn't want to go into details; he wished to retain some small amount of pride. "We'll be back tomorrow."

Tonks grabbed his elbow as he turned to walk away. "Whatever you did, you'd better apologise, Draco."

"I have to get her to stop running away from me, first," he replied. Draco turned and began to jog across the room; if he hurried, he may catch Hermione before she reached McGonagall's office.

"What happened between her and Potter, Malfoy?"

Let it never be said that Alastor Moody did not know how to get a bloke's attention.

Draco smirked. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific. I've never known anyone as prone to mucking things up as Potter is."

_Except perhaps me, at the moment._

Moody clomped across the room and fixed Draco with his good eye. Tonks edged closer to be sure that not a word was missed.

"The magic, boy. Is that specific enough for you?"

Draco slowly arched a brow and met Moody's stare head on, no easy task. He supposed he should not really be all that astonished that Moody figured it out. A secret like that could not be kept forever. "You've got good ears, Moody, but I don't think it's my place to tell you that."

Draco did, however, appreciate the irony of this statement. He was the one always hounding Hermione to stop keeping Potter's secrets from everyone but he didn't feel right telling it himself without her blessing. After all, it hardly involved him.

Moody was not pleased with his answer. He took another step forward, seriously endangering Draco's personal bubble. "It exhausts her; I know you see it, and I know you care."

Draco frowned, which apparently was assent enough in Moody's book. He could sense his tutor painting him into a corner; soon he would have no choice but to answer his questions. So much for catching up to Hermione before she Flooed home.

"How I feel about Hermione is hardly your concern," Draco replied crisply. "If you'll excuse me, I should head home before students finish supper. Wouldn't want the elusive Draco Malfoy to be spotted wandering the halls of Hogwarts, would we?"

"She's dangerous," Moody called to Draco's retreating form. There were those damnable attention-winning abilities again. "I need to know what happened if I'm to teach her properly."

Draco's damned, traitorous feet had stopped moving again.

"She could seriously harm herself, Draco," Tonks said with just a hint of pleading in her voice.

Draco remembered quite clearly the pure panic he'd felt watching her plummet to earth after levitating three grown men seven storeys to earth while maintaining one of the most powerful Shield Charms he had ever witnessed. Hermione had lost consciousness that night and it had taken her a full twenty-four hours, at least, to regain full strength. Yes, harming herself was a definite possibility.

"It doesn't affect Potter at all," Draco said slowly. "I've seen him use it. He just carries on like nothing happened." He turned and faced Tonks and Moody again. "You have no idea what she's capable of."

"And you do?" Moody challenged.

"No, but I'm getting there. And believe me; everything I've seen has been nothing short of miraculous." Draco could see the curiosity burning up his cousin's face.

"What about Potter, then?" Moody asked, keeping the conversation on track.

Draco raked his hand through his hair. He did not want to break Hermione's confidence but Moody had a point, and he had been asking himself very similar questions earlier that very same day. He sighed; it would just be one more thing for her to be pissed at him about later. He could live with that if it helped her in the long run.

"Some sort of power transfer took place," Draco began. "I don't understand the machinations, but given what I've seen and heard, it makes sense."

"That's Dark magic," Moody said seriously.

Draco shook his head. "It was accidental." Moody seemed unsurprised by this. "If you ask me, Potter's the one who needs to be in here training."

"That's one hell of an accident," Tonks said. Was that disdain he heard creeping into her voice?

"But you didn't hear this from me. She's already not speaking to me and I'd rather like to remedy the situation." Draco once again began his trek across the long room.

"When did she become an Animagus?" Moody called.

"Sunday," Draco responded without turning.

"Why now?"

"Because she thinks that if I can do it before the next full moon, we'll be able to learn in advance whether or not I'm a werewolf."

There was a pause.

"Draco," Tonks said cautiously, as though she was not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer to what she was about to ask. "Exactly how long has Hermione been attempting the transformation?"

"Since Friday night."

Draco did not wait for the implications of Hermione's truly incredible feat to be realised. He shut the door behind him and took off down the hall as quickly as his weary legs would carry him.

* * *

Harry and Ron found Grimmauld Place empty when they arrived, which struck them both as a little odd. What in the world could Hermione and Malfoy be up to that involved leaving the house? It was hardly safe for him to do so, and it irked them both that Hermione was with him.

"Let's go up to the library and see if she has any notes we might be able to use," Ron suggested.

"Good idea," agreed Harry.

Upon entering the library, Harry illuminated the room and Ron got the fire going to chase back the chill. It was only late September, but the autumn and winter were promising to be colder than normal. Perhaps it was the Dementors' fault.

Hermione's notes were in multiple stacks, but contained to only one table. There were also two towers of books that looked ready to topple. Harry fingered the titles while Ron began sifting through the mountain of notes that Hermione had acquired in the past months. Luckily for them, all of her work was separated by subject in manila folders that Muggles favoured and arranged alphabetically.

The books on the table ranged everywhere from advanced Defensive spells and, oddly enough, Unlocking Charms to Horcruxes (although they were not titled so obviously; Harry wondered where she'd managed to find them). There were also books and Muggle newspaper clippings pertaining to each and every site they had searched since June.

Harry was unsurprised to find a couple of small books with pages marked and labelled 'Animagus'. The books that did not seem to belong were about werewolves. Harry hadn't the slightest idea why Hermione would be researching them.

"I found the stuff on Ravenclaw and the wand," Ron said triumphantly.

"Good," Harry replied distractedly. He was flipping through one of the larger books on werewolves. "Hey, check really quickly and see if she has any notes about werewolves."

Moving to a different stack, Ron read the tabs until he reached the bottom. "Ah, here," he said. "It's bloody thick, too." Ron looked through the bottom half of the stack again. "The folder on Vampires is gone, though."

Maybe she threw it out?" Harry suggested.

"Maybe I threw what out?" Hermione asked sharply from the doorway.

"Bloody hell," Ron swore. Startled, he dropped the folders onto the floor and bent to pick them up.

Harry was astonished by her appearance; not because she seemingly arrived out of thin air, but because she looked terrible. Her hair was wilder than usual, despite it being tied back, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked to have been crying.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Harry asked, hoping he didn't look as caught-red-handed as he felt.

* * *

Oh yes, Hermione was perfectly well.

"So, I'm 'Hermione' again, am I?" Harry winced. Good. "Is there some particular reason you're going through my things?"

Harry looked appropriately shamefaced. Ron was still gathering dropped documents but suddenly paused with a very stunned expression his face. Hermione did not know what he was looking at but, judging by his reaction, it was probably none of his business. Quickly crossing the room, she snatched the parchment out of his hands and continued picking them up herself. Inconspicuously, she glanced at the sheaf that had given Ron that dumbfounded look on his face.

It was in Draco's handwriting – his musing and theories as to how his incident with Fenrir Greyback differed from Bill Weasley's, and a list of evidence supporting Hermione's Animagus theory. She cursed herself silently and resisted the urge to begin crying again, this time out of sheer frustration. The day had been far to trying for her to come home and have to deal with the two people she was least prepared to handle.

"We came to talk to you, but you weren't here, so we came looking for your notes on Ravenclaw and the wand," Harry explained in a rush.

Hermione wasn't really listening. She was anxiously awaiting Ron's reaction. She didn't know if he would put the pieces together, or what she would say if he did. That's all they needed; one more thing to hold against Draco.

"Ron?" said Harry, noticing the sickly look on his friend's face.

"Hermione-" said Ron, ignoring Harry.

"It's none of your business, Ronald. That's what you get for snooping." She jerked the folder out of his hands and stuffed the appropriate documents inside. Offhandedly, she noticed the other folder contained her notes on Rowena Ravenclaw. "You learn things you wish you hadn't."

"What's going on?" Harry demanded, not liking being left out of the loop.

"Malfoy's –"

"None of your concern," Hermione snapped, cutting him off. She turned to Harry. "What were you saying when I arrived?"

It took Harry a moment to remember what she was talking about. He was definitely more interested in what Ron had discovered. "We were just wondering where the file on Vampires went, was all," he said. "You went to all that trouble to compile it and it seemed a bit strange that you'd trash it."

"I loaned it to someone who needed it." Hermione decided it was best to keep Narcissa Malfoy's involvement between as few people as possible.

"Who?" Ron asked.

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" Harry demanded. He was getting that look on his face that seemed to appear whenever he didn't know something which he felt he should.

Hermione rolled her eyes; she was quickly loosing patience with the both of them. She was grateful, however, that Ron had dropped the werewolf issue for the time being.

"Because, Harry, they're a spy, and it's generally thought a good idea to keep their identity as quite as possible."

"Then why do you know?"

"Because you made me the Secret Keeper, you dozy prat."

Ron, however, was insulted for a slightly different reason. He was not upset that she knew something they did not; only that she was unwilling to share. "You seem to be keeping an awful lot of secrets lately, Hermione."

"Despite what you two think, I am under no obligation to tell you anything at all." Hermione took a deep breath, though it did little to calm her. "Do you think I like to keep secrets?"

"You've become rather good at it," Harry said unkindly.

"Everything I do is either necessary or for the good of everyone else," Hermione returned. "Neither of you have any grounds whatsoever to judge what I do for the Order."

"What do you expect us to do, Hermione?" Harry asked, his voice inching closer and closer to a shout every time he spoke. "We come home after months away and it's like you're not even the same person anymore. You used to tell us everything; now all you do is keep things from us."

What tenuous grip Hermione had maintained on her temper was now suddenly and dramatically let go. "How _dare_ you come here and say that to me?" she demanded. "You're both lucky I'm even talking to you after the way you treated me. And I _expect_ you to grow up and realise that the war is not just about you and Voldemort!"

"HE KILLED MY PARENTS!"

"YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHOSE LIFE HE'S RUINED!" Hermione shouted back. "I really am sorry that your parents died, Harry, and I'm sorry that you had to grow up the way you did, but while you've been off on your grand adventure, the rest of us have been here actually _fighting_."

"What are you saying?" Harry yelled. "That I've been off hiding from the war? You know that I have to find them all, or it won't matter anyways!"

"No, I'm saying that Voldemort hasn't been lounging about while you've been gone. In fact, he's been extraordinarily busy. So you'll have to excuse me if I've had my hands a bit full!"

Harry gestured to the table. "It looks like all you do is research."

"And whose idea was that?" Hermione snapped back.

"Are you going to tell us anything?" Ron asked, finally speaking up. He'd been more than happy to let Harry and Hermione duke it out.

"Not unless it has to do with Horcruxes," Hermione answered simply. "That's really the only business I have with you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked hotly.

"It means that since I am neither insane nor have my head adjusted crookedly, that I will not be able to inform you when either situation has been remedied. You burned that bridge, Harry."

"What are you saying?" Ron asked weakly. He was looking rather pallid.

"I'll help you with the Horcruxes _when I can_ because I promised I would, but Draco and I work for the Order now. If there's something you want to know, go ask Professor Lupin; if he thinks you _need_ to know then he'll tell you."

The silence that enveloped the room was so volatile that Hermione kept expecting it to go off like a shotgun in the night. She knew that once she unwound she'd feel dreadful about the way she'd spoken to them, but she was sick of them behaving like they were entitled, that things should just be given to them. And she found it thoroughly insulting that not only had they been supremely ungrateful to her for saving their lives, but they had truly expected her to just carry on as before, like they hadn't completely abandoned her.

Add to the mix her tenuous relationship with Draco, and Hermione feared she might become that shotgun and explode in a hundred directions, heedless of what or whom she took down with her.

"Who _are_ you?" said Ron.

"Stop acting like you had nothing to do with what we've become!"

"You're not exactly blameless here, either, Hermione," said Harry. He had lowered his volume, but his voice was still loaded with emotion.

Hermione's magic came to the surface so swiftly; she barely had time to check it before it escaped entirely. The lights on the walls flickered and extinguished, leaving only the fire to light the room. She could feel the power coursing throughout her body; it was dancing across her fingertips, just begging to be let loose. She could not recall a single time in her life that she had been this… _livid_.

"Hermione…" Ron began cautiously.

"Get what you came for and leave," she replied through clenched teeth. She was emotionally frayed and was hardly in any condition to deal with them a moment longer. Hermione was angry on the outside, but inside she wanted to curl up in her bed for a good cry and not have to face the world for at least three days.

"What about the cup, then?" Harry asked, carefully. He, at least, recognised how unstable Hermione was.

"Destroyed."

Harry glanced at Ron. She hadn't told them, not wanting to put something so sensitive in a letter. They had already been taking a huge risk communicating by owl as it was.

"When?" asked Ron.

"The end of July."

"I want to see it," Harry said.

Without a word, Hermione set the werewolf folder on the table, spun on her heel and exited the room. Entering her old bedroom, the lights flicked on with a wave of her hand. Harry and Ron were close on her heels; they were both anxious to see another piece of Voldemort's soul destroyed.

Flinging the wardrobe door wide, Hermione knelt on the floor and opened the bottom drawer. She emptied the contents onto the floor before reaching her hand way in the back and releasing the catch on the false bottom.

"What's that?" Harry said, nudging the letterbox that held Snape's memories with his shoe.

"Would you believe me if I told you that you _really_ didn't want to know?"

Hermione lifted the thin slat of wood that served as the drawer's bottom and withdrew a nondescript wooden box. Inside were all of the Horcruxes they'd recovered save the wand; the diary (preserved by Dumbledore), the ring, the locket, and the cup were all present in the various states of their destructions. She took out the cup, which was nothing more than a crinkled ball of tarnished gold, and threw it over her shoulder. One of the boys caught it, and Hermione began putting her possessions back in their proper place.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said. "What did you do to it?"

"I separated the piece of soul from the cup using a potion with a base of Holy Water."

"A potion?" said Ron, sounding dubious.

"Holy Water, like what they use to bless things in Catholic churches?" asked Harry.

Hermione stood and gave the box to Harry, who also was holding the cup. Ron had the file on Rowena Ravenclaw. "No, but I don't really care to go into it. Feel free to take the file, if you like. Take the box, too. I see no reason for me to keep it."

Harry looked torn for a moment, before deciding to be pleased that he had one less Horcrux to worry about, for which Hermione was most grateful. Ron, however, was looking around the room with a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face.

"Hermione, where's your bed?"

She couldn't help it; Hermione blushed, having completely forgotten. She and Draco had been sharing a room since he arrived, and she hardly ever thought about it anymore. She was not, however, going to let Ron make her feel guilty about it.

"Next door, in our room," she replied with a note of challenge in her voice.

This, as it turned out, was the wrong thing to say. Ron felt he was quite up to this challenge. She really should have known better, especially since Draco was now involved, if only in name.

"Please, Hermione, tell me you're not shagging him."

"I beg your pardon?" she said, utterly astonished by Ron's tactlessness.

Startled, Harry fumbled with the box, only barely holding onto it, and began looking everywhere but at Ron and Hermione. And he was _blushing_.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "He told you," she said to Harry. "You told him!"

Ron jutted his chin out defiantly. "I try my best not to keep secrets from my friends."

Hermione was mortified. They had sworn that they wouldn't tell Harry, but Ron had. "I am not having this conversation."

"Yes you are."

"It's none of your bloody business whom I sleep with."

"I'm not hearing a 'no'," Ron said. "You are, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not!" Hermione exclaimed, gesturing wildly with her hands. "But if I were, you'd have no right to judge me. _You_ left. _You_ ran away from us like a coward. And _I _won't feel guilty for moving on with my life!"

"But it's bloody Malfoy!"

"Really? I had no idea. Perhaps I had my eyes closed."

"Don't get cheeky with me."

"Why on earth not?"

"Hermione!"

"Ron!"

"Guys!"

"What?" Hermione and Ron shouted in unison.

Harry flinched, apparently regretting his decision to speak up. "Er, Mrs. Black's woken up. Maybe you should turn the volume down?"

"I have a better idea," Hermione said. "Get out! Leave! Go be idiots elsewhere! I have far too much on my plate to deal with your belated and jealousy-fuelled interest in my sex life!"

Redder in the face than she had ever seen him before, Ron stepped forward and grabbed Hermione's elbow, dragging her even closer. She tugged on her arm, but he had an iron grip and she was beyond exhausted. Since he wouldn't let her go, she settled for levelling a frighteningly intense glare on him.

"This is serious, Hermione!"

"Ronald Weasley," she replied, her voice dangerously low, "if you don't get your hands off of me _immediately_, I promise you will regret it with _every_ bone in your body."

"Are you threatening me?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I'd say she was, Weasley," Draco drawled from the doorway; all eyes turned towards him. "And she means that quite literally, of course. She could do it."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron said through clenched teeth. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"I believe she asked you both to leave."

Hermione hadn't thought she'd be happy to see Draco again today, but Ron was getting far out of hand. Harry was merely watching stupidly, having wasted his only attempt at deescalating the situation by commenting on Mrs. Black, who was in fact screaming like a banshee, and was probably the reason no-one heard Draco's approach.

Ron looked at Hermione, gauging where she stood on Draco's intrusion. When he realised that she wasn't going to ask Draco to leave, he physically, metaphorically, and visibly deflated, like someone stuck a pin in him and released the pent-up hot air inside of him.

"This is my house," Harry said angrily to Draco. There was something about Draco that crawled right up underneath Harry's skin, bringing out his less-than-wonderful attributes without fail.

"This is unbelievable," Ron said to Hermione. He released her and stepped away, looking at her like he'd never seen her in his life.

Hermione didn't see fit to respond; she found it quite believable.

"Your name may be on the deed, Potter, but she's the one who lives here which, if I understand correctly, had been _your_ idea, and I think you've caused enough trouble for one day."

After a moment of everyone staring at each other, Hermione realised that Harry and Ron both _wanted_ to leave now, but didn't want it to seem like they were doing so because Draco told them. If there had ever been a room full of more prideful, stubborn people than that room was at that moment, she'd never heard of it. Finally, Draco and Hermione's patience won out over Harry and Ron's obstinacy.

"You two deserve each other," Ron said disgustedly. He exited the room with alacrity, making a point of shouldering past Draco a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary.

Harry, not wanting to be left there alone, followed Ron, but stopped and stared Draco down for a moment before passing through the doorway. "This isn't over, Malfoy. I don't know what Hermione sees in you, but I still see a snaky, arrogant _murderer _when I look at you."

"Harry!"

Much to Hermione's surprise, Draco did not rise to the bait. Instead he sighed tiredly and said, "Potter, grow up."

With an angry sneer, Harry left, too. Mrs. Black had screamed herself out for the time being, and the room was deathly silent. Draco was watching and waiting for her to make the first move. In her anger at Harry and Ron, Hermione had almost forgotten that she was supposed to be mad at Draco, too.

"I could have handled them myself."

"I'm sure you could have done."

"Don't patronise me," she said tartly.

"I'm not doing," Draco replied, taking a couple slow steps into the room. "I have perfect faith in your defensive abilities. If you don't believe me, just ask my nose."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she squashed it. "You know you deserved it."

Draco smirked, but did not dispute the fact.

Hermione dreaded the answer, but she asked, "How much did you hear?"

"Everything after 'Holy Water'."

Hermione flushed, right down to the soles of her feet. She hadn't felt this humiliated since she was a little girl. Draco had heard everything she and Ron had argued about. Everything.

Hiding in her bed for three days was becoming more and more appealing all the time.

"It's quite impressive, actually," Draco was saying. "Holy Water's hard to come by, and very difficult to use. Not to mention dangerous."

Hermione nodded silently, knowing what was coming next but wondering if Draco was going to be as tactless and crass as Ron had been.

Draco took a three more steps towards her as he spoke. "Were those the extenuating circumstances?"

"Yes," she said with a snort. Draco's face momentarily returned to that blank façade that had actually become unfamiliar to her. She didn't like it at all.

"May I ask when?"

Hermione sighed and allowed her shoulders to sag; she was so tired. "The night before we left for Ipswich."

"Were you a couple?" he asked cautiously.

"Of a sort. The attraction was there, but we kept putting it off. We wanted to focus on finding all of the Horcruxes and because Harry and Ginny were still separated, we didn't want him to be weird or jealous or any of the other hundred emotions Harry might have responded with."

"So… you promised not to tell Potter, and then Weasley avoided the whole thing."

Hermione nodded, feeling sillier than ever. Although she had to admit, telling Draco had been a lot easier than she'd expected. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I am forever finding new and interesting reasons to hate them." He stepped closer again, and was now within arms reach. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that if I have to deal with another scene like that, I may literally fly apart."

Hermione drew a ragged breath; she could feel it all bubbling up, just beneath the surface, and if she wasn't careful, it was all going to erupt and Draco would have to console yet another sobbing mess of a girl. But there was something about him… she felt like she could truly be herself with Draco. That she didn't have to keep secrets from him because he could handle the truth. That even though she _hated_ to cry, he wouldn't think her weak if she did. She could tell him exactly what she was thinking at any given moment and that would be perfectly all right.

"I'm thinking that if you keep behaving so rationally, that I may not be able to stay mad at you."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"I've never felt so idiotic and foolish and _alone_ in my entire life."

"You're not any of those things."

"Everyone expects so much of me, but there's just not enough to go around."

"That's not true."

"Which part?"

"I don't expect anything from you."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"It's a good thing, trust me. I know what it's like to have impossible things demanded of you."

Of course he did. Kill Albus Dumbledore, or have his mother's death on his hands. She understood why Draco had been so broody and sullen that year, and now he was here, despite all of the terrible things that happened between them in their past, telling her that she wasn't alone and that he understood exactly how she was feeling.

Had Harry or Ron ever understood?

"Hermione…" Draco began awkwardly, "I can't tell you how sorry I am." He stopped, but she waited patiently for him to continue. "What I said – It was cruel and uncalled for and you didn't deserve it."

"Oh, Draco-"

"Please, let me finish." She nodded for him to start again. "I was afraid - for my mother. It got brushed aside, but she _killed a man_ this morning. She was tortured by her own sister, and then thirty minutes later she's off to Romania hunting Death Eaters and Vampires. I know it's hardly an excuse, but-"

"It's the truth."

Hermione was stunned; an apology and an admission of fear in the same breath. She could scarcely believe her ears but one look into his eyes dispelled any notion of dishonesty. Draco meant what he'd said and he hadn't said it because he thought it was what she wanted to hear.

Reaching for Draco's wrist, she brushed her thumb over the mark there. She wasn't angry with him anymore, nor did she want to be. "I suppose I'll have to forgive you, now."

Draco looked at her seriously. "I'm not asking you to."

"I know."

It didn't really matter who embraced whom, only that it was right. Hermione wrapped her arms around his back and literally melted into him. The sound of his heart beating in her ear was relaxing her better than any Calming Draught ever could, and the lazy circles his hands were drawing on her back were quickly erasing an entire day's worth of tension. It was nice, this not being alone bit.

"Would you really have come with me?" Draco asked.

"Without hesitation. I just wanted you to-"

"Think before I dove in head-first like Potter?"

"Yes, although I really do understand why you wanted to."

"I know."

"I liked her," Hermione said. It was the truth and she had been surprised by this at the time. She'd always expected Narcissa to be like her husband, cold, cruel, uncaring, and devoted to Voldemort, but Draco's opinion of his parents was so vastly different that the notion was easily discarded. Narcissa's devotion to Draco was touching, as well. "She seems an amazing woman."

"I'm rather fond of her myself," Draco replied lightly, though his voice was a little tighter than before.

"She will be all right, Draco. She knows how to take care of herself."

Draco pulled back after a moment so he could see Hermione's face. _"Why_ would you have come with me?"

This question, too, had been on Hermione's mind, but not for the same reason. Draco had trouble believing that someone would do something so selfless on his behalf, while she wondered why it was so important that he not leave without her. She, not wanting to delude herself, concluded that she did have slight abandonment issues, but there was something else, too. Something big.

"Because whatever part we're to play in this war, we're supposed to do it together. I just-"

"Feel it."

"Yeah."

"You Gryffindors and your feelings," Draco said with a small smile.

"We're chock full of them."

"Well," Draco said, "now that you're no longer out for my blood, I think I'll go into the attic and make use of my Every Spare Minute."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but returned the smile. "Let's eat first. You didn't even have breakfast."

Draco's stomach rumbled, as if to remind him of the fact. "If you insist."

Thirty minutes, a sandwich and a butterbeer each, along with a shared plate of crisps later, Hermione declared that while Draco would be practising his Animagus transformation, she would be in the library.

"What on earth for?" Draco asked.

Hermione's brows tugged downward in the middle. "Harry and Ron were going through my notes and such before you arrived. I want to see what else they disturbed."

"What _else_?" he queried.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Hermione heaved a heavy sigh. "Draco, Ron saw some of the notes on werewolves. More specifically, Ron saw _your_ notes on werewolves."

"Nosy prats," Draco replied, uncharitably. He raked a hand through his hair. "He'll have told Potter by now, no doubt."

"It was all I could do to derail the conversation at the time," Hermione replied. "But I wouldn't worry about it too much. In a couple of weeks it probably won't matter."

"I've never met anyone as terminally optimistic as you, Hermione."

"You say that like it's a disease," she replied. "Good luck."

Draco walked down the hall and turned up onto the next flight of stairs. "I'm not holding my breath."

"See," she called after him. "We balance each other; I've never met anyone as terminally pessimistic as you.

Mrs. Black's shrieking effectively drowned out any response Draco might have had. Hermione entered the library, making a point of ignoring memories of the all-too-recent events which had occurred there. She hoped Harry and Ron hadn't displaced too many things; her research table was a highly organised area geared at being as productive as possible.

It didn't take Hermione long to realise that her folder on werewolves was missing from the table where she had, in retrospect, carelessly tossed it. Ron must have nicked it as soon as her back had been turned and hid it in the Ravenclaw folder.

"Sneaky blighter," she cursed under her breath. For a brief, maniacal moment, Hermione considered Flooing to the Burrow and demanding they return her notes but decided against it. The last thing she needed was a row in the middle of the Weasley stronghold. That would draw more attention to their falling-out than was necessary.

_Why does it matter, anyways? In a couple of weeks all this nonsense will be cleared up._

_Then why are you worried?_

_I'm not worried._

_Now you're worried and in denial._

This terminal optimism Draco spoke of… she could feel it flagging. She just couldn't help the anxious knot that formed in her stomach every time his situation was mentioned.

It was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.

* * *

Narcissa was wholly unprepared for where she found herself after Portkeying to Romania. She'd expected to be transported to the middle of a forest or a wizarding village - someplace _appropriate_. But no, this must have been Moody's joke on her. Narcissa whirled into existence on the roof of a Muggle building in the middle of a very busy city. She cursed herself for not even asking to where she was being sent; she had had other things on her mind.

Seeing Draco had been an unexpected shock. It had been difficult to not search Grimmauld Place for him before Flooing to Hogwarts, but she had found him anyways. It had been so good to hold him, to see him alive and well and cared for. The relationship he had developed with Hermione Granger was intriguing as well. On one hand they were finishing each other's sentences, but on the other hand they fought most passionately. Narcissa did not know Hermione from Eve, but she had never seen Draco behave like that with _anyone_. She had also never known anyone who could talk Draco out of something once he had his mind set to it.

There was one other thing that had not escaped her attention, even though she had remained silent. Both Draco and Hermione had identical tattoos on the insides of their wrists, of which Narcissa had only seen the likes once before. Severus had had an identical mark on the side of his neck, but the high collared robes he favoured hid it from view.

What did it all mean?

A cacophony of car horns honking on the street below brought Narcissa's attention back to the problem at hand. She was in Romania, but she really did not have any idea how to begin her search for Rabastan, or from where. The first order of business was to find out exactly where she was. Once that was established she could begin formulating a plan of approach. She most definitely had her work cut out for her.

It had taken come legwork, but Narcissa eventually found a wizarding establishment on the outskirts of the city which, she had learned, was the port city of Constanţa. She had taken her meal in the canteen and was now in her room on the second floor debating what to do next. The hour was growing late, and she'd had a long day, but she also knew that every moment spent not doing anything was a moment that Rabastan was moving farther and farther away from her. Not knowing what else to do, Narcissa laid down on the bed with Hermione's notes.

The first sheaf of parchment was unexpected and touched her more than she would have admitted. It was a note from Hermione:

_He's as safe as he can be here, but you must come back to him. If you ever need anything at all, you know where to find us. Send a Patronus._

_HG_

Not wishing to dwell on her separation from Draco, Narcissa put the parchment at the bottom of the stack and began to study up. By the time she finished the night was well gone into morning and she had a deep appreciation for Hermione Granger. The girl's depth of knowledge, attention to detail and clever observations were astonishing; no wonder Harry Potter had lasted as long as he had. It was also no large surprise, despite the girl's parentage, that Draco was so drawn to her.

Included in the file were dozens of newspaper clipping from Muggle publications speaking of mysterious deaths and disappearances near Kent and Lancashire, but most of them were from the city of Ipswich and its surrounding areas. The information itself was not very useful, as she was in Romania, but the essence of the clippings was invaluable. Hermione had provided her the means with which to begin her search: how to locate Vampires. By knowing where the Vampires were, she could anticipate where Rabastan would be travelling.

Content that Draco was as safe as he could be and that she now had a plan of action to follow, Narcissa finally allowed herself to fall asleep.

* * *

Minerva was not a pacer. By nature she was far too concerned with self control and general propriety to allow such a blatant display of discomfiture. Pacing was for those of a weak constitution and an excess of nervous energy.

Tonight – Minerva paced. She paced and she paced, stopping only occasionally to fix her steely death-glare on Alastor, just to be sure he wasn't having her on.

After twenty minutes, it became quite clear that he was not.

"I must say, Alastor, that this is by far your most hare-brained idea yet."

"But not impossible!" Moody responded, jabbing a grizzled finger at her emphatically. "It could work."

"In theory. It could also kill the both of them, or leave one trapped within the other, or, if they were to succeed, they may never be able to reverse the transformation!" Minerva replied shrilly.

"In theory we could know for sure by tomorrow evening and begin training them accordingly," Moody returned.

At last, Minerva sat down with a heavy sigh, feeling every minute of her many years, the heavy burden her position entailed, and cursing Albus for leaving her so many responsibilities and no idea how to go about fulfilling them. What Alastor was suggesting was absurd, ludicrous, _insane_, but she was unable to tell him that it was _impossible_. Unsafe, but not impossible.

"Have you spoken with Remus? Mr. Malfoy's circumstance does fall within his area of expertise."

Alastor grunted. "Wouldn't hear of it."

"So you came to me," she finished bitterly. Minerva pushed her spectacles further up on the bridge of her nose; it was late, very late, and even with the glasses, her vision was beginning to blur with fatigue. "It's not just about magical power, Alastor. It's about comfort and communication. It involves a level of trust that most people are never able to achieve. And even if their minds allow the connection to be made, there is no guarantee that their magics will accept it."

Alastor seemed unimpressed.

"Do you really want to ask that of two teenagers?"

"Granger's smart. Do you think she won't come up with the idea all on her own, given the time?"

Now _that_ was an irrefutable point. Hermione had always been a bright witch but she was proving herself more cunning and crafty all the time. She was also courageous to a fault, and would attempt the very thing Alastor was suggesting with little regard for her own welfare; as long as someone else benefited she was all right with the consequences.

"Remus and I will be there to ensure full disclosure," Minerva gave in. "And you _will not_ talk them into it. If they decline, that will be the end of it." She rose from her seat; Alastor did so as well. "The earliest I can make it will be during the lunch hour. I trust you not to… colour their judgement."

Alastor grunted noncommittally, which did not sit well on Minerva's conscience. "Don't be late."

"Goodnight, Alastor."

After opening the Floo, to an address that Minerva would have been hard-pressed to discern had she been standing right next to him, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody disappeared from her office in a whirl of green flame. She sat down again, allowing her posture to slacken for the first time since she rose from bed, and massaged her temples with her fingertips.

_What have I done?_


	15. Bittersweet

_A/N: Wow, so... here it is. I feel I should preface this chapter by saying that 1) these scenes were all planned from the very beginning, and 2) I agonised over every single word - especially the Draco/Hermione scenes. This chaper is hugely pivotal and, hopefully, intense. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hide behind my sofa, batten down the hatches, and prepare for the fall out._

* * *

**Bittersweet**

Wednesday, 24 September

One would think that after having an attempt made on one's life for the purpose of making an example, that one would not be in a terrible hurry to return to the example-maker's ranks. However, Lucius Malfoy was far beyond redemption as far as his devotion to the Dark Lord went. He was incensed that his weakling wife and incompetent son had cost him a lifetime's devotion to the cause. Because of their inadequacies, he was cast from the inner circle and sentenced to death. Most men would have slithered back into the woodwork from which they came and called it a day.

Not Lucius. He had given his all to the Dark Lord's Cause and he was not about to let such familial inconveniences prevent him from taking his rightful, hard-won place when the new regime was finally in control.

Lucius preferred to be in no man's debt but he was willing to bite the bullet, so to speak, if it re-won him the Dark Lord's favour. He trusted no-one, but, after the debacle his cleverly hidden listening artefacts at the Lestrange residence had recorded, he realised that he had sorely underestimated his wife. Draco, too was proving a difficult catch, even for the notoriously efficient Fenrir Greyback; what remained to be seen was whether the boy was more clever than he had given him credit for or if he was simply very good at hiding.

So it was that Lucius found himself patiently awaiting Greyback's return a short distance from his den. At last, the pre-dawn silence was shattered by a _crack_ of Apparition not even ten metres away.

Fenrir Greyback's reflexes were extraordinary; he had hardly finished appearing before be had his wand out and aimed at Lucius. An animalistic growl emanated from his throat, and Lucius had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He was almost regretting his choice of potential accomplice.

"Malfoy," Greyback snarled. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't bring the Dark Lord your head right now."

"Because I have a proposition," Lucius replied smoothly.

"Talk. Fast."

"You want my son; I want my wife. We both seek the Dark Lord's favour."

"I do his bidding because it pleases me," Greyback interrupted. "I'm not some mindless lackey so intent on revolution that I've forgotten how to watch my own back. Tick, tock, Malfoy."

"I think there may be a way for us both to get what we want, but it requires… cooperation."

Greyback snorted. "I don't need your help, Malfoy. You had your opportunity and failed – less than gracefully."

"You've hit a dead end where my son is concerned," Lucius continued, ignoring the bait, "but I have a plan that will kill two birds with one stone."

Greyback considered for a moment, his interest piqued by his penchant for murder and mayhem. "I'm listening."

"An interesting thing happened yesterday," Lucius said, idly examining the head of his cane. "My wife murdered Rodolphus Lestrange before confessing to Bellatrix that she worked for the Order. She also suggested the reason she betrayed the Dark Lord was for Draco's sake; she always was rather fond of the useless brat."

"Fascinating, but what does that have to do with me?" Greyback inquired. He was losing patience.

"Quite simply, we use one to catch the other."

xXx

"You've gone right out of your head, old man," Draco exclaimed. He was astonished by the utter absurdity of what Moody had just suggested. Looking at his partner beside him, he saw not the incredulity he had expected, but quiet contemplation.

"What are the risks?" Hermione asked.

Professor McGonagall's stern countenance visibly fell in resignation. She had seen this coming, but had hoped against it nonetheless. "If you were to successfully make the connection, any number of things could occur." It was obvious that she was trying to talk Hermione out of this ridiculous idea before she got it stuck in her head. "One may become trapped within the other; your magics may clash, doing both physical and mental damage. If Mr. Malfoy were to transform, he could be unable to transform back; the same would apply to you as well, Miss Granger."

Hermione considered for a moment. "So, what's the worst case scenario?"

"Death," Professor Lupin said, tightly. It was clear where he stood on the matter as well. "Or permanent incapacitation."

"But _hypothetically_ it could work. If he lets me in and our minds and magic connect properly, it _could_ work."

"I cannot believe you are even considering this," Draco said to Hermione. "Have you been listening? We could die!"

"Of course I've been listening, Draco. Don't you want to know all of the information before you make a decision?"

"I'm all right, thanks. My mind was made up about the time Moody finished talking. This is _insanity_. In fact, I don't think there is a word that would adequately describe just how insane this really is."

"But don't you want to know? It has to be at least worth a try."

"When given the choice between dying and waiting two more weeks, I don't think there is really much of a decision to make."

"You could put this whole thing behind you today instead of torturing yourself until the full moon."

"You keep assuming that I'm not going to become a werewolf," Draco said, heatedly.

"And you keep assuming that you are."

At this, Tonks popped up between them from her nearby stool and threw a companionable arm around each of them. "For what it's worth, I think you two fight like an old married couple. You should be able to make the connection, no problem."

"Dora!" shouted Lupin in disbelief.

"Aw, come on, Moony, where's the harm in them trying? It seems to me the danger's in their success."

"I resent that," Draco said, sourly. He shrugged his cousin's arm off.

"She's right, Draco," Hermione said, not willing to let it drop. "There's a chance that nothing at all will happen. Let's at least give it a try."

"I feel obligated to add that Remus and I are both firmly opposed to this," said McGonagall crisply.

"So am I," Draco said, quickly.

"Oh, don't be such a nancy-boy, Malfoy," Moody said. It was his first contribution to the conversation since he announced that it would be a spectacular idea to use Hermione's bizarre and uncontrollable magic to force Draco to transform. "You yourself said that everything you've seen her do has been miraculous."

Draco took great offence to Moody's attack on his masculinity. "Why are you pushing this?" he asked the grizzled Auror.

"Because if I'm to make a competent wizard out of you, then I'll need all the facts. You're not afraid, are you?"

"Yes, I bloody well am," he replied, sharply. "This lunacy could kill both of us!"

Draco was afraid but not for the reason everyone else now believed. Naturally, he did not much care to die but he was absolutely terrified that he would become a werewolf. Hermione could say otherwise until she was blue in the face but optimism didn't make things happen. The only thing optimism did was give one the strength to face the trials ahead. Unfortunately, Draco was fresh out of the stuff.

"Would you give us a moment, please?" Hermione asked everyone.

Moody gave her an approving glance and began clomping away towards his usual perch at the back of the room. Lupin and McGonagall hesitated, knowing that Hermione was going to try to convince him to at least give the suicidal idea a chance.

Tonks, recognising their reluctance, gently turned each of them away from Draco and Hermione. "Come now; let's let the kiddies talk it over."

When they were out of earshot, Hermione turned to her partner and said, "I understand your reservations, but what's the real reason you don't want to do this?"

Draco wondered how she knew; she hadn't even been looking at him when he'd said it. Something in his voice, perhaps? He stared at her and then looked away, resolutely refusing to voice his concerns.

"Ah," she said, knowingly. "Draco, look at me."

Draco complied unwillingly, not wanting her to read him any more than she already had. It was an unnerving thing for a Malfoy to not be able to conceal his true emotions. At first he had feared that he was slipping, but it soon became apparent that Hermione simply _saw_. She saw right through him.

"I wish I could promise you that it's not going to end badly, but I can't. What I _can_ tell you is that there is nothing to be achieved by waiting."

"Except possibly sparing our lives or our mental well-beings, you mean. You'll have to excuse me if I'm not in the habit of mindless acts of self-sacrifice," Draco snapped.

"But that's not really the issue," Hermione said, not rising to the bait.

Draco had never wanted her to rise to the bait the entire time he had known her. This time he did - anything to avoid the true topic.

"What I'm trying to say is, don't you think it would be better to confront the possibility that you may turn into a werewolf head-on? Whether or not we're successful if we try, it won't actually change what you turn into. If we do it this way then it won't come as quite a shock when the full moon rises; you'll be more prepared."

At the moment, Draco was most resentful of his partner's rational mind. If she kept talking, he would soon have no logical reason to object whatsoever.

"And if you become a regular, mundane, everyday Animagus, then we can put this whole werewolf issue to rest and never think on it again."

"All of that is really easy for you to say," Draco returned, "but you're not the one who's about to have the course of their life irrevocably altered."

Hermione sighed. "That's what I'm saying, Draco. You life is already irrevocably changed, if you turn. There's nothing we can do about it now. Knowledge is power."

"You're not even the slightest bit concerned about the possible consequences if something goes wrong?" Draco said, marshalling every last argument he had. The ranks were thin.

"I wouldn't say that," Hermione admitted. "I just think we can do it."

Draco shook his head in disbelief before raking his hand nervously through his hair. "I'm really not at all comfortable with this."

"I know," Hermione said, "and if you tell me no right now, I'll drop it, but I really think we can."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Draco growled before marching over to Moody, Tonks, Lupin, and McGonagall to announce the bad news.

xXx

It was after three o'clock in the afternoon before anything happened. Draco was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, opposite Hermione, wondering just how much blood was left in his feet when, suddenly, her grip tightened on his hands and she was _there_. She was inside of him; he could hear her voice in his head. He could feel her magic flooding his mind and coursing through his body like adrenaline.

He felt what she was feeling: excitement edged with panic and curiosity. Or was that what he was feeling? He was having trouble separating the two. On the whole, the sensation was foreign and unnerving. Draco's only consolation was that it was Hermione and not some idiot he didn't know.

"Whoa," Hermione's voice echoed in his head.

Draco flinched, not having been expecting it. "Turn down the volume," he snapped, irritably.

"Draco?" she asked. "You can hear me?"

"Obviously."

"Well, I wasn't expecting that," she replied, mostly to herself.

"What took you so long?" Draco said, still feeling a bit peevish.

"You're an Occlumens," Hermione said with a slight edge in her voice. "I had to work around all of the mental walls you have."

Draco did not apologise; Occlumency was rather a handy skill to have. "So, what happens next?"

Hermione shrugged and he not only felt her hands pull upward in his, but he also sensed it mentally. He had to agree with her; this was not at all what he had been expecting.

"I suppose we should begin attempting the transformation."

"Well, whatever we do, can we hurry and get it over with? I lost feeling in my feet about an hour ago."

"Keep your shirt on," came Hermione's reply. "You remember the incantation, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Good, now stop talking and focus on the words. I'll try and pass my magic on to you."

Draco shifted his weight in a vain attempt to become more comfortable and did exactly what Hermione said. He'd done this very thing perhaps a hundred times before, but this time he first had to assimilate Hermione's presence, making her part of the background and not an intruder. He only hoped that his subconscious didn't throw up any more walls and block her out. This was the dangerous part they had been warned about. It would be very easy for Hermione's consciousness to become trapped within the maze of Draco's mind.

Time slipped by. It could have been ten minutes or it could have been ten hours, but after what seemed like an eternity, Draco felt something stir inside of him. It was a dizzy, swooping sensation, like he'd missed a step coming down some stairs. He felt it again, stronger this time.

"Don't shut me out, Draco, not now."

Something inside of him broke, then; some hidden dam burst open and swept him away with the current.

X

Tonks glanced at the clock on the back wall and was only a little surprised to note that it was half six already. Remus was sitting on the floor between her legs with his head hanging between his knees. Draco and Hermione's decision to give Mad-Eye's idea a go had hit him hard and she had been trying all afternoon to assuage his concerns as best she could. Minerva was sitting primly in an armchair of her own, no more pleased with the situation than Remus, but dealing with it in a far different manner. Moony had been anxious, jumpy and short-tempered, while Minerva had resolved to watch the teens like a hawk and help them in any way she could when the time came.

Moody had been his usual self, which was unsurprising. There was not much in the world that ruffled his feathers and Tonks rather suspected that he viewed today's events as more of a science experiment than anything else. He had not said a word these six hours, which was probably done purposefully and with his own well-being in consideration. Minerva had made it quite clear that if anything happened to either Draco or Hermione, that she would be holding him personally responsible.

"Don't shut me out, Draco, not now."

Everyone jumped at Hermione's voice, even Mad-Eye. There had not been a single sound from either of them since they sat down six hours ago, and words exchanged between spectators had been hushed a furtive, not wanting to disrupt the bonding process they were monitoring.

Remus was on his feet with an alacrity that most would have been surprised to witness. Tonks swiftly joined him and linked one of her arms through his to prevent him from dashing off and interrupting them, should the urge strike him. Minerva stood slowly, almost fearfully, clearly dreading what might happen next.

"About damn time," Moody said gruffly.

Tonks watched in fascination as Hermione's form became distorted, watery, as though she was being seen through ancient, settled glass. She was teetering on the edge of transformation, waiting for Draco to take the plunge with her.

In one fluid, concerted motion, both Draco and Hermione pulled themselves to their knees; their bodies were pressed flush against each other, and their hands twisted to allow their fingers to interlock. Slowly, slowly, Draco let his forehead rest on Hermione's shoulder, his back curved but his posture tense. His breathing became noticeably laboured as the fluid aura surrounding Hermione began to spread to Draco, enveloping him inch by languid inch.

"Merlin's ghost, she's doing it!" Moody said.

Tonks had to force herself to exhale her pent-up breath before she passed out from lack of oxygen. She had never witnessed anything as intense as what was happening between Hermione and Draco at the minute.

Suddenly and simultaneously, Draco threw his head back and screamed in agony, while Hermione shouted, "No!"

Then a sheet of brilliant silver light flashed between the pair, sending them both flying. Tonks buried her face in Remus' shoulder. Not wanting to watch what she could hear happening. The sounds of her cousin's screams would haunt her for a long while.

X

Draco screamed. He had endured many painful things in his time, but nothing had ever come close to this. Every bone in his body shattered at once, shredding muscle as they lengthened and reformed at unnatural angles. He thought his face might explode as it extended forward and shaped itself into a long snout, and he feared he might suffocate before his ribs began to put themselves back together and allow his lungs to expand again.

Draco screamed until the terrible sound became a howl reverberating throughout the room.

The pain dissipated almost instantly, but did not disappear altogether. Phantom sensations sporadically chased through his fevered muscles, and the assault on his senses was extreme. Five distinct breathing patterns were easily discernable to his sharp ears – four frightened and quick, one slow and measured as though the owner were sleeping. He smelled five separate scents – three female and two male, four laced with panic and the last calm and sweet, like apples. Draco now perceived the world through the haze of his instincts, and he put off opening his eyes for it as long as possible.

The whole experience was incredibly bizarre and extremely frightening; it was like there were two people sharing his head. Draco was present, telling himself to be calm, to not panic, to _breathe_, but the wolf was there as well, and its suggestions were far less rational. The beast within him wanted to hunt, to kill, to destroy and consume. It wanted to ruin lives, to end them, and would have done had Draco not been fighting frantically to check his other, unwelcome half.

A soft groan to his right drew Draco's attention. It was Hermione; she was just regaining consciousness after the backlash of their magical connection being severed threw her backward. Draco stood, his entire form protesting movement in its new shape, and began walking towards her.

X

Hermione wondered if this was what patients in comas felt like: totally aware of their surroundings, but unable to so much as open their eyes. She had heard Draco's transformation, vaguely, distantly, as though he was in another room, and had felt something within him break immediately before his magic forced her out.

She had been struggling to regain control of her body as soon as she had hit the matted floor, but it was Tonks' screaming her name that reconnected all of the missed wires. When Hermione finally was able to open her eyes, she found herself lying on her side, watching Tonks struggle against Lupin's hold.

"Hermione! Get up!"

Cautiously, she turned the upper half of her body so that she could see behind her. Draco was there, not two metres from where she lay. The transformation had added at least six inches to his height and the shape of his body suggested that, while he was capable of walking on only two legs, he was just as comfortable on four. His fur was dusty brown in colour, except for his throat, chest, and stomach where it was pure white. As was the case with Draco the human, Draco the werewolf's most striking feature by far were his eyes. They were the same clear, grey eyes she had gazed into countless times before, but these were alien, wild – two things Draco was not.

Hermione suppressed the powerful surge of emotions that wanted to take over; there were more important matters at hand than how _she_ felt, chief among them being that she did not know how much control Draco had over himself or how long he could refrain from eating her. She also needed to try to help him get back to his natural state of being.

Taking care not to startle him, Hermione rolled fully onto her back and then pushed herself to sitting. She threw Tonks a warning glance before leaning forward onto her palms and shifting into the leopard.

Draco's scent was overwhelming and both animals bristled in instinctual opposition; she was a cat, he was a dog. A deep growl rumbled in Draco's chest and Hermione felt her hackles raise of their own accord.

She had to forcibly remove her feline counterpart from control, knowing that picking a fight with Draco as he was would hardly be the way to begin this new facet of their relationship.

Now that Hermione was in command and knowing that Draco would be unreachable until the werewolf was certain that she was no threat, she did the only thing she could think of: She took three steps forward and plopped down on the floor, leaving her stomach exposed and vulnerable. Then she prayed to anyone who would listen that this wasn't the most foolish idea she'd ever had.

X

Remus watched Hermione with an incongruous mixture of pride and horror. She was once again walking the fine line between lunacy and brilliance with her life hanging in the balance. Exposing her vulnerable side as she was was the universal sign for submission in the animal world but, depending on how aware Draco was within his own personal prison, she was in no position to defend herself, should he strike. Remus recognised that Hermione was trying to win the werewolf's trust in order to reach Draco. If the boy was as panicked as Remus had been the first time he transformed, he would need Hermione's help to reverse it.

"What the bloody hell is she doing?" Nymphadora exclaimed. "She's going to get herself killed!" She tugged on her arm again, but Remus held firm; it would do no-one any good to interrupt Draco and Hermione's reintroduction.

"This is the only way she'll be able to gain his trust, Dora."

"Wands at the ready, everyone," Moody said. "It'll take at least two good Stunners to take him down."

Everyone complied, knowing that Moody was right, even if they really did not want it to come to that.

X

The wolf was intrigued by the cat's behaviour. Draco, whose command was waxing and waning, knew that it was Hermione, but _everyone_ understood the significance of her actions. She was putting herself at his mercy; this spoke volumes to the wolf, and went a long way in helping Draco secure his grasp on the beast.

Feeling much more at ease in the other animal's presence, Draco allowed himself to better acquaint himself with her scent, even going as far as to nudge a hind paw with his snout. Hermione did not so much as flinch.

Draco was more elated than he would have liked to admit at the sudden reappearance of Hermione's voice in his head, no matter how faint. Desperately, he mentally grabbed onto the sound and gradually it became stronger and more defined.

"Please, don't eat me. Please, don't eat me. Please, don't eat me…."

"Hermione?"

The werewolf started nervously when the cat lifted her head and looked at him.

"Oh, thank Merlin," she said with evident relief. "Are you all right?"

Draco snorted. "That would depend on the usage."

"Right," Hermione replied, sounding embarrassed. "Sorry."

"I don't know how much longer I can keep control. My werewolf half is not very fond of you."

Hermione then made a show of laying her head back down on the floor. "Do you have enough control to change back?"

"I don't know. I'll try, but don't move."

Draco turned his attention inward, and tried to focus on the part of the spell that allowed him to change back, but it was easier said than done. Not only was he trying to perform magic, but he also had to keep the wolf in line long enough to do it, and the wolf was less than obliging. It was raging inside of him, wanting to tear the room and its occupants to shreds. Draco was frightened by his counterpart's vicious and single-minded intensity.

It took several minutes of complete concentration before Draco felt the recognisable slushy, watery feeling in his stomach but he grabbed onto it before it slipped away, and put everything he had into forcing the sensation to spread throughout his body. From there it was a relatively short jump to the burning anguish his transformation forced him to endure.

After the mind-numbing misery ended and the bone-deep agony ebbed, Draco was proud of himself for turning back on his own – for about two seconds. Then the paralysing hysteria which had been held at bay only be necessity enveloped him when he realised he was a _fucking werewolf_.

Draco promptly began to hyperventilate and, unable to do anything else, he fell to his hands and knees and vomited. His body was shaking violently, so badly his arms could hardly bear his weight. He was vaguely aware that someone had had the foresight to vanish the puddle of sick beneath him before he collapsed altogether. The floor was icy cold on his fevered flesh, and he distantly hoped his trousers had not suffered the same fate as his shirt.

Warm, gentle hands rolled him onto his back and, even through his blurred vision, there was no mistaking Hermione's great mane of hair. He could just barely hear her speaking his name over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, rushing through his veins and arteries at an alarming rate. She was brushing his hair back from his face and gingerly caressing his cheeks as though he might fall to pieces if she touched him too firmly. There was an oppressive weight on his chest and he realised, with more panic, that it was nearly impossible to draw breath.

"Come on, Draco, breathe, just _breathe_," Hermione was saying, a bit frantically. "Please breathe."

Draco was trying, he really was, but it was difficult to focus on making his lungs do something they should do on their own when the corners of his vision were beginning to darken and his stomach was staging another revolt.

Then, out of nowhere, a familiar and soothing masculine voice behind Hermione said, _"Aspiro!"_

Suddenly, Draco's lungs expanded to their maximum capacity, drawing in huge gulps of clear, life-giving air. His vision, which had clouded from lack of oxygen, began to clear almost immediately. The vice squeezing his lungs was loosened, but his heart was still banging wildly in his chest.

The first thing he saw was Hermione's face. She looked stricken, but not panicked; in fact, she seemed to be exercising an extreme amount of self control over her emotions. This calmed Draco considerably – if Hermione could do it, so could he.

Unfortunately, the relative calm did not last for long. Again, it hit him that he was a werewolf, but this time it was despair that washed over him. It was utter hopelessness so profound and pervasive that he felt it in every corner, every nook and cranny of his being.

Hermione was talking to him again, but he couldn't hear her. When he didn't respond, she hooked her arms beneath his armpits and pulled him to sitting. Someone tugged his sweatshirt over his head and then helped Hermione try to pull his arms through the sleeves. Draco came to his senses about mid-way through the process and irritably shoved his hands through.

With clarity of mind, also came bitterness and shame. He, Draco Malfoy, the last of his family line and failure extraordinaire, was a werewolf. He was now something he had been raised to hate, to spit on, to condescend to, and all of Hermione's optimistic reassurances and the small amount of hope they had inspired had come to naught. He had to live the rest of his life with this curse, and he was humiliated for it. He was ashamed of what he now was and with his complete lack of control and reserve in the revelation's aftermath.

Wanting to regain some small measure of lost dignity, Draco forced himself to stand, pushing the dull, ubiquitous ache to the back of his mind. Hermione put a hand beneath his arm to help, but he shrugged it off.

"I can bloody well stand on my own two feet," he snapped, peevishly. His knees begged to differ; they felt like gelatine, but he was hardly going to admit that. Hermione scowled reprovingly, but remained silent.

Looking around at his cousin and three former professors, Draco was disgusted to see varying degrees of sadness and pity written all over their faces. Hermione was nervous and fidgety, like she wanted to mother him to death. He was grateful she refrained.

It was too much; Draco didn't want or appreciate their condoling stares or their sympathy. He was beginning to feel confined; the vaulted training room was now far too small for his comfort. So, without a word, Draco turned and left as quickly as his leaden feet and burning muscles would allow.

He wanted to be alone with his sorrow.

xXx

Tonks flicked her eyes back and forth between Draco's defeated, retreating form to Hermione's face where indecision warred with the urge to soothe everyone's worries away. She wanted to go to him, it was obvious, but something kept her feet rooted to the spot. Tonks would have given her left hand to know what was going through the other girl's head. Merlin knew her own was spinning on its axis.

Draco becoming a werewolf had been a theory, a fifty-fifty chance, a vague possibility. The chances of the two inexperienced teens forcing a transformation as they had had been astronomical. Tonks would be the first to admit that she had neither expected it to work, nor that Draco would actually become a werewolf. It was a bittersweet and ironic end to one of the tensest days of all of their lives.

As soon as Draco was gone, a chair appeared behind Hermione, into which she sank distractedly and covered her face with her hands. Tonks felt herself begin to fidget. No-one had said anything for a while now and she felt weird just watching Hermione collect herself.

Remus wrapped an arm around Tonks' shoulders and planted a light kiss on her temple. She took in his appearance: he was pale and drawn and looking very uncomfortable. Moody was as inscrutable as ever, and Minerva had the blank stare of one so thoroughly shocked that she was unable to form a coherent thought.

Hermione's voice startled them all to attention. "I'm done," she said, snapping her head up. She looked straight at Moody. "I'm not using the magic anymore. It's unnatural; I don't like it, and I don't want it."

Moody fixed both eyes on her, but she never wavered. "If you think you had anything to do with what just happened to Malfoy, then you're mistaken."

"I _know that_," Hermione replied. "That's exactly the argument I gave him this afternoon. We _should not_ have been able to what we did. It's just _wrong_."

"I understand your thinking," Tonks said, "but I think you need to continue training with the magic. It's dangerous and unpredictable and you need to know how to control it."

"No! I won't do it anymore. I know enough to keep it in check and to prevent accidental usage, and that's going to have to suffice." For once, Hermione didn't see the logic. Instead, she stood and squared her shoulders, communicating that the discussion was no longer on the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find Draco." She did not even bother to hide her haste as she ran across the room and out the door.

Minerva spoke for the first time in over three hours. "She's in love with him."

"Only she doesn't know it," Moody added.

"Neither does he," Remus said.

"Yet."

xXx

Hermione sprinted through the castle to Professor McGonagall's office, taking the route Draco would most likely have chosen. The halls were just now beginning to fill as supper was coming to a close and she hoped that Draco had already found the safety and privacy of Grimmauld Place.

The look on Draco's face before he fled was the only thing Hermione saw as she dodged a group of third year Ravenclaws. She wondered if anyone else had noticed how quickly and easily he had slipped on his blank façade like a well-worn glove. The closed expression had been dismayingly unreadable and reminded her so strongly of the old Draco – the one who hated her and whom she hated – that she feared her partner might be lost to her forever. This was a devastating set-back. Hermione didn't care one way or the other in regards to his lycanthropy – she had told him as much and meant it – but if he was going to shut her out and revert to his old, more comfortable ways, then she didn't know how she could help him. Draco thought she was stubborn, which was an excellent example of the pot calling the kettle black.

The gargoyle moved aside when she gave it the password and she took the steps two at a time. McGonagall's office was empty, so she Flooed directly to headquarters. Draco was still in the kitchen when she arrived. He was awkwardly propped against the sink with his head hung low and the cold water running full-blast.

Draco either did not notice or simply chose to not acknowledge her presence, which was troubling. Rushing around the table, Hermione filled a clean glass with water and turned off the tap. At last, Draco opened his eyes, but he still would not look at her.

"Here, drink this. You'll feel better. I'll put on the kettle and we can t-"

Draco snorted disdainfully. "We can what, Hermione? Talk? Have some tea? I hate to break it to you, but a heart to heart and a good cuppa aren't going to make this better."

When he looked at her, Hermione did not like what she saw – at all. Quicksilver eyes were consumed by burning anger and bitter resentment with a dash of terror for good measure.

"Perhaps not, but they certainly can't make things worse."

"I'm a fucking werewolf! It _can't_ get any worse!" he screamed. "Or have you gone completely daft and can't remember what just happened?"

Hermione sighed. "I know it's terrible, but it's not the end of the world." She realised belatedly how awfully patronising that sounded.

Draco barked out a short, caustic laugh. "That's easy for you to say. You don't have to turn into a derange monster every month for the rest of your life!"

Unconsciously, Hermione stepped back in the face of his raw fury. She didn't know how to handle this from Draco. Most of his emotions manifested as slight, nearly imperceptible shifts of expression, but now he had shed all pretence of control or reservation; he was beyond that. And who could blame him? Hermione certainly did not; she just wished she knew how to help him.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Draco, because I don't have a clue."

"There isn't anything you _can_ do, Hermione! You can't fix everything! Not everything fits into a solvable equation; piles of books and stacks of notes and hours spent with your nose stuffed in them won't change anything!"

With that he shouldered past her and stiffly fled from the kitchen. Hermione stood, dumbfounded, staring at the space where he'd been. She was in far over her head, way out of her league; it was all she could do to tread water in these new, tempestuous waters. Forget making forward progress, especially if he wasn't going to let her help him.

She stayed where she was until her back muscles cramped from holding the position for so long. Hermione wandered from the kitchen into the foyer; her original intent had been to at least make sure that Draco was all right, but, when she saw her pea coat hanging on the coat rack, she immediately changed her mind. Shrugging into the heavy woollen jacket and wrapping her scarf around her neck, Hermione left Grimmauld Place with no particular destination in mind.

xXx

Compared to the overall population of the world, the percentage of people who knew the true history of Vampires and werewolves was extremely small. But the Keepers knew. The Keepers knew because they had been there since the beginning, fighting the creatures of the night with their every breath.

They knew that the legend of Romulus and Remus was true. The twins _had_ been raised by a wolf – a werewolf, the first of her kind. The she-wolf had been the cursed offspring of an unfortunate peasant woman and a demon who grew restless during full moons. Remus had perished fighting his brother for the pack after their mother died. The Keepers were there, even then, ensuring the continued existence of mankind.

They knew that Cleopatra was the first Vampire, not Count Dracula, and that she was the most powerful witch to ever walk the earth. She turned herself through the darkest of magics with the intention of conquering the known world. Little did she know that Marc Antony was one of her sworn enemies and, although he did love her, he had done what was necessary. But not before she had spread her disease to hundreds, and not before those hundreds had quadrupled their number twice over. He was too late to prevent the then immune to sunlight Vampires from establishing themselves as a threat, even without their mother.

All of this was erased from Muggle history to protect them through ignorance, and wizarding historians had gladly omitted these facts in shame – shame that one of their own had unleashed one of the most insidious and virulent evils upon the world.

The war against werewolves and vampires was the longest and most courageously fought in the history of time, but no-one knew it.

Absalom considered himself honoured to bear their mark, to call himself a member. He had been raised amongst their ranks since Severus had rescued him from the wreckage of his burning childhood home at the tender age of ten. He had been taught everything children learned at Hogwarts and more. They planted within him the accumulated knowledge of thousands of years spent fighting the war against the night, which grew into an unwavering faith in the cause and a deep-rooted trust and respect for his comrades in arms.

Now thirty, he had claimed more lives than most Death Eaters could boast. He was now home, his true home, to his most trusted mentor to bring the good news.

_And the bad,_ Absalom thought grimly. He needed to inform them that Severus was dead. Absalom had moved past his grief concerning his friend's death and now had a simmering and spiteful anger. Severus had been recruited for the sole purpose of keeping an eye on the Dark Lord, ensuring that he did not become another item on the Keepers' already lengthy agenda. Because of Severus' multiple loyalties and responsibilities, he had been unable to properly train in combating werewolves and vampires. This, in the end, had cost him his life, paid to Fenrir Greyback.

Perched on the highest spire of le Cathedral de Notre Dame, Absalom patiently watched as the sleepy city of Chartre faded into the coming night. One by one, cars were parked on the narrow streets; lights flickered out, and soon the city was dark save the occasional street lamp lighting the way.

The hawk took flight, circled the ancient church twice and then entered through the belfry. He descended the tower in a lazy spiral and came into the main sanctuary through the large archway on the ground level. After taking a graceful turn around the vaulted room, he made his way towards the large pilgrimage labyrinth the cathedral was famous for and landed neatly in the centre swirl.

The hawk paused with his head cocked to one side as he listened intently for any sound that might suggest he was not alone in the church. Satisfied, the black bird transformed into Absalom; he himself could hardly have been picked out of the shadows with his black hair and full length black leather jacket. Without hesitation, he withdrew his wand from one of his jacket's deep pockets and touched the tip to the tattoo that was directly beneath his collar bone. Royal blue fire traced the design, beginning on the outer edge and working its way toward the centre. When the cobalt magic completed its journey, the ground beneath Absalom's feet turned three hundred and sixty degrees before descending like a lift.

Absalom blindly watched the sublevels pass as he travelled ever downward. Finally, three stories beneath the cathedral's foundations, the lift slowed to a stop, rotated one hundred and eighty degrees and Absalom found himself looking at a familiar black wooden door emblazoned with a royal blue labyrinth.

It opened for him automatically when he stepped toward it and Absalom walked through the doorway and down the short tunnel-like corridor it opened into. The torchlight from the War Room at the other end was sufficient for him to see the way. Upon entering the high-ceilinged room, he took a moment to reminisce; it was in this very room which he had taken most of his lessons and met many of his comrades, both past and present. It was in this very room that he had learned the truths of the world and embraced wholeheartedly the way of life offered him.

The floor was grey stone, but the walls and ceiling were pitch black. Arching from one side of the rectangular room to the other was a complete map of the world etched in broad, silver lines. The map was rotating in synchronisation with the planet. A small representation of the moon was present, indicating its current phase. It was waxing now, leaving less than two weeks until the next full moon.

Just as Absalom's nostalgia was fading, two men entered from the left side of the room. They were talking rapidly with worried expressions lining their faces. Absalom immediately made his way toward them. They had stopped just beneath south-east Europe and were so absorbed in their conversation that neither heard his approach.

"Sextus," Absalom said, his deep voice echoing in the room.

The man in question ceased talking and turned his attention to the newcomer. The concerned expression on his faced eased ever so slightly at the sight of his former pupil. Sextus, shaved bald and wearing royal blue robes, was tall and willowy, but had an air of authority about him. This was probably the reason he had been selected as their leader after Leonardo had passed on nearly a decade gone.

"Absalom," he said with a voice as smooth as butter. "What brings you home?"

When Absalom reached the pair, he bowed respectfully to his commander, who returned the gesture. Now that he was closer, he recognised the other man as well. His name was Mirku, and last Absalom knew he was stationed in Romania. The man was of average height and had the build of one who had spent the better part of his life doing hard labour. He had a fair complexion with cocoa-brown hair that was close-cropped and mostly hidden beneath a wide-brimmed brown leather hat that was cocked to one side. The hat hid one eye from view but the other pale green orb was sharp and attentive. He had a double brace of silver throwing knives strapped across his chest and a crossbow with a bolt already knocked hung from his hip.

Sextus continued: "Mirku, here," he gestured toward the man, "has come with disturbing news. You remember Mirku, don't you?"

"Of course," Absalom replied. "We did some work together in Serbia during the uprising the war caused." The men shook hands and exchanged brief nods of mutual greeting. "What news from Romania?"

Sextus withdrew his wand from his robes and aimed it at the ceiling above them where Romania was currently positioned. With a flick of the Oak wand, the small country detached itself from the rest of the continent and expanded until it was roughly the size of a large dinner table. A swish this time, and hundreds of burgundy points of light lit up the enlarged map.

Mirku pointed to the north-western corner, which was oddly devoid of the red dots. "The vampires are leaving, and not just from Romania," he said, gravely. "I've spoken with Yuri in Bulgaria, Grethel in Hungary and Mikela in Croatia – they all report the same thing, though not to the degree Nikola and I are experiencing."

"The Vampires in Romania always were a little more… enthusiastic than others," Absalom commented.

Sextus hummed his agreement as he stared pensively at the map above them. "What about Jove, in Serbia?" he asked.

Mirku frowned. "No-one had heard from her in more than two weeks, so Mikela and I met to search for her." This drew Sextus' attention away from the map, and he focussed his sharp hazel eyes on Mirku. "We found her in her flat. She'd been dead at least two days, probably more."

Sextus was astonished, as was Absalom. Jove had been young – not yet twenty-one – but she had been a very skilled fighter. "Vampires?" Absalom asked.

"The Killing Curse."

No-one said anything for a very long moment. Vampires never used the Killing Curse even if they had been magical before they turned; what was the point in taking a life if they would receive no nourishment from it?

"Was there anything else?" Sextus asked.

"The Dark Mark scorched into the wall," Mirku answered, grimly.

"Death Eaters?" Sextus said in astonishment. "In Serbia?"

Absalom rubbed his jaw absently while he pondered this new information. "It's as though they wanted whoever found her to know they were responsible but, at the same time, they did not wish to draw attention towards their deed… curious behaviour for a Death Eater."

His words hung between them.

Two swishes of Sextus' wand and Romania receded to be replaced with the whole of Great Britain. The trio was met with a sight that had not been seen since the creation of the map: Various parts of England, Scotland and Wales were lit up like bloody torches. There were more vampires present in the United Kingdom, less Ireland, at that moment than there had been in the past two hundred years combined.

Sextus whipped his bald head toward Absalom. "Why are we just learning about this now?" he demanded accusatorily. "This is the precise reason we have Severus posted where he is – to prevent Lord Voldemort from doing something like this. You're his contact; does he truly know nothing about this?"

Absalom bristled. "I've had the past year and a half split between Lisbon and tailing Potter, and Severus is dead," he said, icily.

This troubled Sextus even more; their ranks were thin enough as it was, and he had heard in ten minutes that their number had been reduced by two. "When? How?"

"Ten days past, and Fenrir Greyback bested him while he was fulfilling his vow to protect the Malfoy boy."

Sextus' frown deepened to a full scowl. "This is most disturbing indeed. Look." He waved his hand at the map again, vanishing the burgundy pinpricks of light and replacing them with white ones. "In just the past week Normand, Eleanor and Jacques have reported that nearly the entire population of werewolves here in France have left for England."

"I'd bet my left arm that Jove caught those Death Eaters while they recruiting for Voldemort's ranks," Absalom said to Mirku.

"I agree," the Romanian replied.

Sextus waved his wand again, this time replacing the hundreds of white dots with a measly nine royal blue ones. "Who do we have in Ireland now?"

"Lenny's in Belfast, and Corbin is in Limerick," Absalom replied. "They've not yet been there a year. Owain is in Swansea, and I'm in Glasgow now."

Sextus interrupted him. "Who's in Lisbon, then?"

"I sent Cristiano to Lisbon and sent Freidrich to Köln."

Sextus nodded his approval; he coordinated deployments to crisis zones and oversaw recruitment and training, but left it to others to arrange who was stationed where. Absalom was one of those people. He gestured for the Scot to continue.

"Joshua is in Plymouth, Hayley is in Hull and we have a Muggle Watcher in London." At that moment, Absalom noted that there were actually three blue dots in London and he smirked, even as Sextus asked his next question.

"Who are the others?"

"They're actually the reason I came to see you tonight," he replied, a bit smugly. "I've found her."

"Found whom?" Sextus returned rather impatiently.

"The white cat," he said. "And I believe I've made sense of the second part of the prophesy."

Mirku, who had been silent throughout the exchange between Absalom and Sextus, spoke up. "I don't believe it," he whispered in disbelief. "That was spoken… five years ago."

"I've seen her with my own two eyes, in action."

Sextus interrupted the other two. "Mirku, go back to Nikola. If Death Eaters are recruiting, I want them stopped, whatever the cost." Mirku bowed slightly to his commander and nodded to Absalom in farewell before hurrying off to the lift and back to his life. "Absalom," he continued, "come with me. I think Delphi would like to hear this straight from its source."

When Sextus spun on his heel and retreated through the same door through which he had entered, Absalom obediently followed, wondering what the speaker herself would have to say about the tidings he brought.

xXx

When Hermione next looked at her watch it was quarter of ten and she hadn't a clue where she was. The sky was overcast and the air smelled like rain was on the way. However, she had little desire to return to Grimmauld Place just then. She didn't want to go back to Draco until she had her head in order and knew what she would say or do when she saw him. This was probably one of the most difficult mountains they would need to climb as partners and she knew that which foot they started out on would be pivotal to their success. She was not about to lose him to his curse or his despair, not when they'd come so far already.

Not really having anywhere else to go, and desperately needing someone to talk to – about _anything_ – Hermione stepped into a deserted alleyway and Apparated to the alley behind the _Dusty Shelf_. Sinead didn't close the shop until ten, and now seemed as good a time as any to cash in that rain-check.

The door chimed as she pulled it open, and Hermione took a moment to let the familiar and comforting scents of old books and cinnamon incense wash over her. She felt like she was a hundred years old. Sinead was leaning against the counter, comparing credit card slips with book sales; Hermione had helped her do this many times throughout their friendship. The pretty Irish girl looked up with a grin that quickly disappeared as she took in her friend's appearance. Abandoning her task, she rushed around the register to Hermione's side.

"What's happened, lovie? You look like someone's turned your world upside down."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond and was just as shocked as Sinead when she simply burst into tears. She wept for Draco. She shed hot tears of frustration for her inability to make it better. She couldn't even tell him that it was going to be all right; it would be trite and patronising and insulting to do so. It would also be a lie, and she preferred not to tell those if it could be avoided.

Sinead hugged her without hesitation and muttered soothing nonsense into Hermione's hair until she began to calm. Quickly locking the shop's door, Sinead wrapped Hermione in a one-armed embrace and led her to her office-slash-break room behind the counter. There was a small sofa there that matched the furniture in the store proper; Hermione allowed herself to be lowered onto it while Sinead crossed the room to some cabinets that had a coffee pot, an electric tea kettle, and a small microwave on top, and began rooting about on her hands and knees in the very back of the bottom cabinet.

Hermione had glanced up to watch her friend through watery eyes when she saw something that brought her attention back to focus instantaneously. There, on Sinead's back just above the waistband of her khaki trousers was a labyrinth tattoo. It was identical to Hermione's in every way.

"Sinead," Hermione said, sharply. "Where did you get that tattoo?"

She pulled her head carefully out of the cabinet so as not to crack her head on the inside. She had a tall glass bottle with a white label in hand. "Aye?"

"Your _tattoo_! The one on your back - where did you get it?"

Caught off guard, Sinead glanced to the left before reluctantly meeting Hermione's gaze. "Oh, that," she said, awkwardly, "I got myself that for my eighteenth birthday. I've had it for ages."

Hermione was almost sure she was lying, but not positive, and if Sinead's tattoo really was just an ordinary tattoo, then she did not want to put herself in the position of having to explain the existence of the wizarding world, among other things. It killed her, but she dropped the subject and resolved to bring it up when she was less distracted.

Sinead found a couple of plastic cups, poured their drinks and joined her on the sofa. After a few minutes, she said, "When are you going to tell me what had you all broken up when you walked through my door, hm?"

Hermione grimaced at her embarrassing behaviour and took a large sip of her whiskey. "You remember my friend, Draco?" Sinead nodded and Hermione sighed sadly. "We've just learnt today that he's… sick."

Sinead gasped. "Oh my. Is he all right? What's wrong?"

"He wasn't overly generous with the details, but the short of it was that it's incurable. Needless to say he's not taken it very well." It was thin, but the best she could come up with.

"Neither have you, from the looks of it." Abruptly, Hermione stood and began pacing. "You care for him, don't you?"

Hermione dodged the question. She did care for him, but did not wish to examine just how much at the moment. "It's just that – I fix things. I solve problems; it's what I _do_. Don't know the answer? Just ask Hermione, she knows everything.

"But I can't fix him; there's no problem to solve. There's no cure and I'm not a doctor. I just don't have the answer and I don't know what to do about it." Suddenly exhausted, Hermione plopped back down into her seat and covered her eyes with one hand. "I've never felt so useless in my entire life."

"Well, I'm no expert of course, but if there's nothing for you to do, then perhaps you should do nothing," Sinead said, sagely. "Just be there for him."

Hermione threw her friend a sideways glance around her hand. "That would be a fantastic idea if he wanted me anywhere near him. We had a row afterward and I really don't think he wants anything to do with me, and probably won't for some time."

"Since when has that stopped you? He shouldn't be alone, you don't _want_ him to be alone, so what the bloody hell are you doing sitting in my break room?"

Hermione thought of all that they had been through together – recently and in the past – and of all the obstacles that still lined their path; Draco's lycanthropy paled in comparison to everything that came before. She had told him that whatever their role was she was certain they were supposed to play it together. They would do _this_ together, too, whether he wanted her company or not.

"You're absolutely right," she said, handing off her drink and rising.

"Of course I am. Now, shoo."

Swiftly, Hermione bent and planted a kiss on Sinead's cheek. "I'll bring him by – soon – so you can meet him properly. Be safe."

"Same to you, lovie."

Hermione left the store, walked around the back of the building and Disapparated to Grimmauld Place.

xXx

Draco was lying in bed, feeling for all the world like he'd been hit by a lorry, and staring at the mound of dying embers in the fireplace, when he heard the distinctive _crack_ of Apparition very nearby. He also heard the front door open and close. A moment later his slightly over-sensitive ears picked up the familiar tread of Hermione climbing the stairs in her boots. She was trying to be swift but quiet - and was probably succeeding by normal standards – and fairly burst into the bedroom.

Her silhouette stood motionless in the doorway for a minute; he could feel her indecision from across the room. He didn't know what she wanted, but dearly hoped that it did not involve asking a hundred questions as was her usual modus operandi. At last she entered fully and shut the door behind her. The glow from the fireplace was enough to see her safely to her bed.

Draco did not turn or in any way acknowledge her presence, but even as he heard her tugging off her boots, he felt her eyes on his back. There was the soft swishing sound of her shirt being removed and falling to the floor. Then, much to Draco surprise, he felt his blankets being lifted and Hermione slid into his bed behind him. He tensed at first, but let himself relax when she curled around him, moulding her body to his and wrapping an arm tightly about his chest.

Hermione was petite and a little too skinny, but she was solid and reassuring and smelled like an apple orchard at the end of summer – warm and sunny and sweet. It reminded him of a far less troubled time in his life; a time when his father was _only_ a sadistic bastard and not a murderous Death Eater as well; a time when his mother was not on the other side of the continent hunting Vampires and Death Eaters and when he did not have this wretched curse.

He needed her solidarity, because he felt like he'd fallen in quicksand that was drawing him inexorably downward into darkness. Draco's hand went to his chest where he found Hermione's and locked their fingers together. If it were possible, she pressed herself even more tightly to him.

"Hermione-"

"I told you it wouldn't matter," she whispered, brushing a feather-light kiss at the back of his neck. His entire body broke out in gooseflesh. "I don't know how, but we'll figure this out. I'm not going anywhere."

"Why?" he asked, softly.

Hermione nestled her cheek between his shoulder blades, making herself comfortable for the night. "Because I'm exactly where I want to be."

* * *

_Oh dear, I can already anticipate the angry reviews. But now you're all really going to be mad... I will be taking a brief hiatus to get a few chapters ahead before I begin updating again. This was a terribly difficult decision to make, and I hope you all understand. Thanks in advance for your patience and for sticking with me._


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: So... oh my _God._ How long has it been? I shudder to think. I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed over the years (Yes, I said years. Weird, huh?), and especially the ones who have never failed to check up on me and harrass me to get my butt in gear and finish this. Well, finish this I did, at two o'clock in the morning last night. Make sure you all give my fantabulous beta, Lyr942, lots and lots of cookies for getting this back in less than twelve hours.**

**I'm really, really, _really_ nervous about this, so if you hate it, please don't tell me.**

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**25 September**

Sauda never understood why change was so feared and loathed. Change was the most powerful force in the world and, above all else, she coveted power. And so she embraced change with her entire being. Her only true regret was that she was only allowed access to that power once a month.

But, as most things worth having do, it had come at a price and the time was drawing near to settle the bill. Sauda, however, was not worried. She would keep her end of the bargain; she would succeed. She always did.

Sauda glanced around, sharp eyes attempting to penetrate the thick, soupy fog for which England was famous. It filled the clearing, giving her the surreal feeling of being the only person left on the planet. She could discern nothing more than a few feet away but she knew Sophie, her most loyal and clever ally, was out there insuring that her Alpha remained undisturbed.

Without further delay, Sauda set about preparing the Summoning ritual. First a dried bundle of wild sage was set aflame and used to cleanse each of the four cardinal points. She drew a pentacle large enough for a person to stand in with a large, protective circle around it and lit five blood-red candles which were placed at each point.

Then Sauda withdrew a beautiful dagger from a built-in sheath in her boot. It was nearly a full twelve inches long with a large ruby set snugly in the pommel. With only the slightest hiss of pain, she sliced the length of the blade across her palm, drawing blood. Squeezing her hand into a tight fist, she allowed three drops of the dark liquid to fall into the centre of the pentagram.

"Mighty Lilith, I summon thee!"

The fog surrounding her swirled enticingly. A soft breeze ghosted across the back of her neck and her keen ears detected the faintest of laughs tinkling seductively through the clearing.

"By my blood, I summon thee!"

Sauda stepped out of the pentagram when the twisting mist began to gather there. She dropped to her knees.

"By my faith, I summon thee!"

The form before her was more defined now, obviously female; although the finer details, such as facial features, were yet indiscernible.

And finally, with every ounce of power she possessed, Sauda shouted, "As was spoken, so mote it be!" and plunged the dagger into the earth between Lilith's feet.

Almost instantaneously the goddess went from ethereal to completely corporeal, from insubstantial to an intimidating presence. Lilith was all long, graceful limbs, toned muscles and tanned skin. Her complexion was smooth and golden, and her waist-length hair and imperial eyes were as black as the pit. She was truly terrifying.

Lilith was the only thing in the universe that put even the smallest slip of fear in Sauda's heart, neither was she ashamed to admit it. Lilith saw the cosmos appear; she had her hand in the formation of the continents as they raised themselves up out of the oceans; she witnessed the creation of mankind and all his companions. She was there the day time was made, yet she was untouched by it.

She had more power in her little finger than Lord Voldemort could ever hope to acquire or even imagine.

"I am losing patience," Lilith snapped. Her voice was soft, yet seemed to thunder through the dead silence.

With head bowed, yet still maintaining an air of pride, Sauda said, "I have located it, but it is heavily guarded."

"That is no excuse. I want what is mine. I want what was taken from me!"

"I promise, my Lady," Sauda said hastily. "In six weeks time you will be free with that which is rightfully yours in your hands."

Lilith was momentarily assuaged. "You have a plan?"

"I have a plan. And if all goes as intended, you will watch the Seekers crumble before your very eyes."

Lilith grinned a terrifyingly predatory grin and laughed.

Thirty minutes later, the sun broke over the horizon and Lilith faded back into the already dissipating mist. Sauda, momentarily discomposed, allowed her regal posture to slacken in fatigue and relief. The physical cost of keeping such a portal open, for even a small amount of time, was extremely high, and these meetings always drained her considerably.

Sophie appeared from nowhere like a wraith, clothed in greys and blacks, her small, pale face gravely peering forth from beneath her drawn hood. Without a word, she gathered the candles, matches and the dagger, healed Sauda's palm and helped her to her feet.

They walked in silence back to the den they shared with Fenrir Greyback's pack, Sophie keeping a sharp eye out for the monstrous idiot, and Sauda allowing herself to feel the smallest bit of relief at the prospect of being debt-free. In six weeks she would be released from her obligations.

All she had to do was survive a war, infiltrate one of the most secure sites in the world and make it back to Africa in one piece. Maybe she'd stop the earth from spinning while she was at it.

*~*

At dawn, Narcissa returned, damp and weary, to her room in Constanţa, Romania. She had departed at sunset and, though she searched all night, she found nothing – no sign of Death Eaters or of any Vampires. A few deserted hideouts, nothing more.

But this was not necessarily a bad thing. According to the information provided to her by Miss Granger, nearly twenty percent of the world's Vampire population resided in Romania. The mortality rates and yearly reports of missing persons Narcissa had researched supported this. The mere yet sudden absence of unexplained deaths and disappearances proved that Death Eaters had already been to this part of the country; therefore, it would be fruitless to remain. She would proceed to another region, following the breadcrumb trail that Rabastan Lestrange had unwittingly left behind.

And so Narcissa packed her meagre possessions, settled her bill, and inquired of the innkeeper where the other Wizarding establishments were located, if there were any at all. Being unable to Apparate to a location she had never visited, and as she'd never been anywhere else in Romania before, it would not be wise to use a Portkey, either. She was forced to travel by Muggle means, something she would have scoffed at twelve months ago. Now, she had other concerns on her mind. She caught a north-bound train one hour later and settled in to sleep for the duration – it would be her only opportunity.

*~*

It was just past eight o'clock in the morning when Mirku was awakened by the _tap-tap-tap_ing of an owl on his bedroom window. He groaned and cursed, having been in bed only two short hours, before swiftly sliding out from beneath the warm blankets and allowing the owl entrance.

He recognised the bird. It belonged to a Watcher the Keepers had stationed as an innkeeper in Constanţa. He had been useful to them in the past and was not prone to paranoia or false alarms. Instantly alert, Mirku relieved the bird of its burden, slid his finger beneath the blue wax seal and opened the folded pierce of parchment. Eagerly, he read the missive.

_Foreign female__, approximately forty years old, registered under name: Renee LaFernier. Five feet, eight inches tall, slender with brown hair and blue eyes. Arrived morning 23/09/98. Absent from sunset to sunrise. Uneasy. Departed 6 a.m. 25/09 headed north for Iasi. Green robes, black cloak. _

Mirku read it twice more before tossing it into the fire. The owl had since departed so he closed the window, dressed and Disapparated to the small eastern village with the hopes of finding this mysterious Renée and following her to Jove's murderer.

*

It was almost noon before he saw her. He had been sitting outside of the small cafe next to the inn, waiting for nearly four hours. What he saw was not quite what he'd expected.

She was striking: tall and elegant with an air of confidence about her that often came with a regal upbringing despite the obvious fatigue and discomfort she was feeling. Her clear blue eyes saw everything at once, as though she expected to be ambushed at any moment. For an instant, they made eye contact, which Mirku held before smoothly turning back to his newspaper.

His pulse pounding, he forced himself to wait a full ten minutes before entering the inn and taking a room. He asked the innkeeper for quill and parchment and quickly penned a letter to Nikola. While the innkeeper posted his letter with the house owl, Mirku snuck a quick peek at the ledger. Renée LaFernier was staying in the room next to his. Perfect.

*~*

Draco slept better than he had anticipated, yet still woke before dawn, poorly rested and with a dull ubiquitous ache throughout his body. The rain was beating a steady tattoo against the bedroom window, so loud that it nearly drowned out the sound of Hermione's equally steady breathing. She was a sprawler, Hermione, and had an arm and a leg each thrown over him.

Well, he didn't quite know what to think about that. On one hand it was nice to wake up next to someone, but on the other it was utterly terrifying because it was Hermione.

Just like everything else in his life.

The mere memory of the previous day was enough to make him queasy. He was a werewolf. _Forever_. Even if he did manage to restore some of the lustre to his family's tarnished name by working for the Order, he would never be accepted back into society. He would always be on the outside looking in.

Draco could never have imagined that he would be where he was just then: partners and friends with Hermione Granger, a lycanthrope, and fighting against everything he'd been brought up to believe in. Never mind he was living in a decrepit mansion with the heads of decapitated House Elves mounted on the wall.

Oh gods, he had to _go._

As quickly as he could without disturbing Hermione, Draco slid out from underneath her and dressed. Hermione, lacking his warmth, frowned slightly and snuggled into the pillow instead. She looked so peaceful, and something foreign tightened in his chest.

He held his breath, fearing that she may awaken. When she did not, Draco hurried out into the hall, down the stairs and out onto the street. Without a second thought, he took off at a jog down the pavement, consumed by the need to outrun his past, his present and his own thoughts.

*~*

Draco was gone when Hermione finally awoke, which wasn't really surprising. What bothered her was that he had also left the house – without his wand. It was so unlike him to leave himself unarmed and vulnerable. A quick fire-call to Professor McGonagall confirmed that Draco had not gone to Hogwarts, and she could not for the life of her think of anywhere else he would have gone.

But damn it if Hermione didn't want to know where he was, if he was all right. A hundred what-ifs sped through her mind, each worse than the last, yet she resisted the urge to scour the city looking for him. Despite Sinead's advice to be there for Draco whether he wanted her or not, Hermione knew Draco was not the sort to be pushed. She would just have to trust that he would come to her in his own time.

Anxious and without appetite, Hermione wandered around the old mansion for nearly an hour before she decided to do something useful. In record time she showered and dressed before Flooing to Hogwarts, leaving Draco a note informing him of where she was. Professor McGonagall was still in her office, tending to some administrative duty or another.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Were you successful in locating Mr. Malfoy?"

Hermione fibbed, knowing that the Headmistress would probably see right through it, but let it drop nonetheless. "Yes, thank you."

"Then to what do I owe the pleasure? I was told that training activities had been cancelled for the day."

Hermione was a little surprised at first, considering no-one had told her. In her concern for Draco, she had quite forgotten that there was somewhere else she ought to be. She ignored the first part.

"I was wondering if any of Severus Snape's possessions were still here in the castle."

Professor McGonagall straightened her square-frame glasses and looked curiously at Hermione. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but the Ministry confiscated all his possessions, including those found at his home off-campus, after the incident on the Astronomy Tower."

Hermione twisted her lips into a small, pensive frown. She had expected as much. "I don't suppose there's any way I might gain access to them?"

"It's doubtful. May I ask what you intended to do with Professor Snape's possessions?"

Hermione hesitated. She wasn't sure she wanted anyone to know, but she could not accept that she would be thwarted on the very first stage of her plan.

"I need his ingredient list and brewing instructions for the Wolfsbane potion."

Professor McGonagall paused, hopefully to think of something helpful. But before she could answer, however, a familiar and kindly voice interrupted.

"Miss Granger, what a pleasant surprise," Professor Dumbledore said from his portrait above Professor McGonagall's desk.

Hermione started. She had been in that very same office at least twice a day for several months, and fairly frequently before that, yet not once had she seen the late Headmaster in his portrait. She knew he had at least one other – a small one in Kingsley's office – but was quite stunned to actually see him now. It was a little disconcerting.

"P-professor," she stammered awkwardly.

Dumbledore smiled. "Not to appear as though I have been eavesdropping; I couldn't help but overhear your request. You see, there is little else with which to pass the time but to listen."

A grin spread across Hermione's face. She did miss the crazy old man. "It's good to see you, sir."

"And you, my dear. Now, about that potion. Unless my memory has completely failed me, there is a copy of it in this very room. I asked Severus for my own copy years ago, should I ever require it." He gestured to the bookshelves lining the wall next to the fireplace. "I believe the fourth book from the left on the third shelf is where you might find it."

Hermione's excitement grew as she removed the book from the shelf. It was bound in green leather, and besides silver embossed filigree around the edge of the cover, there were no other identifying marks on the book. But it just wouldn't open. She looked to the portrait.

"Ah, yes. The password is 'sugar quill'."

Hermione spoke the words and the book that was not a book but a cleverly hidden box popped open in her hands. Inside were several small trinkets, but it was the roll of parchment tied with blue ribbon that caught her attention. She held it up.

"Is this it?"

"Indeed, it is."

"Oh, thank you, sir," Hermione said, returning the box to its place on the shelf. Dumbledore had just saved her an entire morning's worth of work. "I'll make myself a copy and return the original first thing."

"That will be fine. And I believe, with Professor McGonagall's permission of course, that you will find every ingredient on that list here on the grounds."

"I don't see why not," McGonagall said. She was not fazed by Dumbledore's appearance in the slightest which led Hermione to believe that his presence was more common than she thought. She retrieved two bits of parchment from a desk drawer and quickly scratched out two quick notes.

"Give these to Professors Sprout and Slughorn and they will give you everything you require."

Hermione took the letters. "Thank you both so much."

"I don't think I have to remind you, Miss Granger, that a Wolfsbane improperly brewed will kill a werewolf," Dumbledore said gravely.

"I know, Professor. I'll be careful."

*~*

Draco ran. He ran until his legs refused to support him and he thought his heart would burst from his chest. He ran until the blood pulsing in his ears caused him physical pain. Still, he had not run far enough. Apparently there were some demons that one just cannot outrun.

But he was damn well going to try.

Draco stayed on the ground where he had dropped to his knees, heedless of the rain pounding into his back, until his breathing had returned to normal. He should have been freezing, but he was more numb than anything.

Vision blurred with the rain – yes, the rain – he stood on weary legs and began running again.

*~*

During Christmas holidays the previous year, Harry, Ron and Hermione had set up a potions lab in the basement at Grimmauld Place. She had made a habit of brewing her own potions to bring on their search for the remaining Horcruxes. With Harry and Ron around, one never knew what one would need, and Hermione felt it was important to always be prepared.

It was also in this very room that she had destroyed a Horcrux – the golden cup of Helga Hufflepuff.

Hermione shivered. Although the only overt reminders of that day were a charred spot on the table, another on the ceiling, and a faint, acrid odour, the room still gave her the creeps. She'd only been down twice since then, and had brewed an extended supply of whatever potions she needed.

But Hermione forced her discomfort to the back of her mind. She'd have to get over it and quick, seeing as she'd be spending a lot of her free time down there from now on.

Methodically, she laid out the ingredients she had collected by order of addition. She duly cleaned one of the copper cauldrons stowed on one of the shelves lining the walls, as well as her favourite glass stirring rod. Finally, before she began, she very carefully copied the potion list and brewing directions then hid the original in the back of her basic potions manual to keep it from being destroyed should she blow anything up.

With a deep, bracing breath, Hermione began.

*~*

Remus skipped dinner in the Great Hall to return to his quarters, distracted and brooding. Since Draco and Hermione had been given the day off, for obvious reasons, Dora had taken the opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep. She would be waking up soon, and he wanted to spend as much time with her as he could before she had to leave for yet another night of the graveyard shift at work.

Dora was awake when he arrived, but was still sprawled across the bed wearing last night's clothes. Remus smiled and flopped down next to her.

"Wotcher, Remus," she greeted.

"You're a mess."

"You're not exactly fit to meet the Queen yourself," Dora replied, swatting his arm playfully. "Besides, it's part of my appeal."

Remus laughed softly and threw an arm across her waist, dragging her to his chest. He squeezed her tightly, relishing in her steadfast calm and natural cheerfulness. Everything seemed less horrid when Dora was around. Remus marvelled continuously at the effect she had on him.

"Rough day?"

"I honestly couldn't say. I've been wandering around in a daze for most of it."

"I know what you mean," Dora replied, lacing her fingers though his. "I was useless at work last night. I'm still having trouble believing it's true, even though I watched it happen with my own eyes."

"How do you think he's handling it?" Dora asked, after several minutes of comfortable silence.

"I don't know. I don't think anyone can truly predict how another will react to such circumstances, and I really don't know Draco very well."

"He's become very reserved," Dora offered, "at least compared to what I've heard about him – except when he's with Hermione. You should see them, Moony; it's ridiculous. They bicker constantly."

"That's not incredibly surprising. What would really shock you would be to see them together as children. Did you know she punched him once? Right in the nose."

"That's the thing!" Dora persisted, rolling over to face him. "With one exception, they have yet to try to kill each other."

"It's a funny thing – growing up. As old as I am, I still find myself accepting things that I never would have imagined even tolerating five years ago."

Smiling indulgently, Dora kissed him full on the mouth. "You are _not_ old." She paused. "What do you think Hermione's doing?"

Remus smiled. This he could predict. "The same thing she usually does: think it to death, read a book or six and then decide what she's going to do about it. She's at least on step two by now, I'd wager."

Dora laughed. "Okay, yeah. I can totally see that."

Remus grew serious once more, and Dora was quick to notice. She was like that with him. She could usually tell what was bothering him, too. Remus had to admit that it was nice to not have to explain every little thing to her – or hide it altogether; to have someone who just _knew_.

After studying his face for a moment, Dora pushed herself upright. "Remus John Lupin, this is not your fault."

Remus sighed miserably and rolled onto his back. "Isn't it though? I spent two years running with Greyback's pack after Voldemort returned. I should have done something about him when I had the chance."

With a huff of frustration Dora stumbled off the bed and towards the loo. "Bloody Gryffindors and your goddamned guilt complexes. Voldemort sending Greyback to eat dear little Draco cannot possibly be your fault and I'm not going to argue with you about it!"

She slammed the door behind her and a moment later, Remus heard the water running. He might have been concerned at the manner in which their discussion ended, but he knew she was always over what stupid thing he'd done by the time she got out.

Instead of fretting, Remus shucked his robes and loosened his tie and wandered into the small kitchenette to rummage for something to eat. There wasn't much and in the end he decided to summon a House Elf to bring him two plates of whatever had been served in the Great Hall.

The Elf returned just as he heard the water shut off, so he put the food on the low table he had in his office and sank onto the settee to wait.

There was a knock at the door. Curious, Remus got up and answered it, thinking it yet too early for students to be calling. The corridor was empty. He stared dumbly for a moment before a rustling noise moved into the room and he understood at once.

"Hello, Harry. I'd say it's nice to see you, but I can't."

The door was closed by an unseen hand and Harry drew off his Invisibility Cloak.

"Professor," he said, grinning.

The two men briefly embraced. Although Remus had been in Harry's life for five years now he would never, ever get over how much he looked like his parents. Harry's resemblance to James in both appearance and demeanour grew the older he became, to the point where he had had to remind himself on more than one occasion that it was not James with whom he was speaking, but Harry. Sadly, Remus wished once again that James and Lily, as well as Sirius, could see the young man Harry had become.

"So, Harry," Remus said, gesturing towards the chair on the other side of the table. "How have you been? I hope your absence has proven productive."

Remus dearly wished Harry would bring him into his confidence on the matter but he had remained wholly and – in Remus' opinion – obstinately opposed to including anyone more than Ron and Hermione. It stung a little, to be honest, but Remus had learned not to press him.

That didn't stop him from being curious, though.

Harry actually smiled a little. "We're almost done." The relief was evident in his voice. "We're almost done and then I can kill Voldemort and finish this stupid war."

That's good to hear," Remus replied, genuinely pleased. But he quickly grew very serious. "Harry, there's something you should know."

Harry squirmed in his seat, sensing bad news ahead.

"We've very recently gained intelligence from a reliable source that Voldemort is planning to attack Hogwarts in roughly six weeks' time. And, sadly, vast numbers of both werewolves and Vampires have sided with him, as well as a number of giants."

Harry laughed weakly, looking a trifle ill. "Is that all?"

"I am sorry, Harry."

"Who's your source? Are you sure they can be trusted?"

Remus hesitated, uncertain of how Harry would handle it. But, above all else, Harry despised being lied to or treated like a child.

"Narcissa Malfoy, and I trust her word on the matter explicitly, for she has nothing to gain by betraying us and everything to lose."

Harry looked stunned for a moment. "Another Malfoy? Are you insane? Next you'll tell me Snape's been passing us information!"

"Snape is dead."

Harry looked like he'd been punched in the stomach, confirming Remus' suspicion that he has still had revenge for Dumbledore's murderer on the agenda.

"When? How?" he demanded. "Who did it?"

"He died bringing Draco to Grimmauld Place. Fenrir Greyback had been ordered to eliminate Draco. He, too, would have died if Hermione hadn't –"

"Saved his bloody life. I know."

Harry began pacing furiously, looking like he wanted to kick something. Remus sincerely hoped it wouldn't be anything expensive.

Dora entered just then, wearing clean clothes and with her violently purple hair still damp.

"Wotcher, Harry," she greeted cheerfully, totally oblivious to the fact that he looked like he might cough up a thunderbolt at any moment. She picked up a plate and tucked in. "Where's Ron?"

Harry stopped pacing long enough to notice Remus' haphazard appearance and that Dora was freshly showered and immediately drew the most embarrassing conclusion. His cheeks grew a little pink and Remus wanted to laugh.

"Er, Fred had a date, so he's helping George close up," Harry finally spat out.

"Aw," Dora joked, gently elbowing Remus in the ribs. "All the little kiddies are growing up. It kind of makes you feel like teasing them mercilessly. Speaking of which, how's Ginny?"

Harry looked abashed. "I haven't seen her yet," he said quietly.

Dora faked a gasp. "For shame! Someone ought to teach you a lesson on how to treat the women in your life, Mr. Potter."

Remus could tell Dora was only half joking. So could Harry, apparently, because he was scowling.

"If you're talking about Hermione –"

Dora waved him off impatiently. "I don't care what happened but you do need to talk to her."

Harry deflated and sunk back into his seat. "I know, but stupid Malfoy is always there and we end up having a huge row. Last time she actually threw us out."

"If I've learned one thing," Remus interjected, "it's that you have to fight for the people you love. I understand the animosity that lies between you and Ron and Draco, but I think you will find him a very different person than the boy you knew at school."

Harry snorted. "I seriously doubt that."

"Hermione doesn't," Dora said pointedly. "And hate takes a lot more effort than it's worth."

"That was very sage-like, Dora."

"Thank you, Moony. I thought so, too."

Harry opened his mouth to respond but abruptly closed it as a Patronus in the form of a three-legged mongoose sailed through the window and perched itself on the table in front of Remus. Moody's grizzled voice croaked out the message in the old Auror's usual brusque tones.

"Greyback and company are raising hell in Belfast. Kingsley says the Auror communications are malfunctioning. Dawlish is the only one on shift. Meet me at Grimmauld Place immediately."

Before the wispy Patronus had even faded, Dora had flown with a surprising lack of gracelessness across the room to her cloak where she removed from a pocket a shiny metal disk. It was identical in appearance to Muggle cosmetic compacts. She flipped it open and attempted to summon Kingsley.

"Bugger." She tried again. "Fuck."

Meanwhile, Remus Vanished their uneaten meals. He Summoned his robes from the other room and shrugged them on.

Harry, too, had jumped to his feet, eager to participate. "Is your fireplace connected to Grimmauld Place?" he asked.

"Fortunately, yes. The Floo powder is on the bookshelf," Remus replied, as he quickly sent out his Patronus to inform Professor McGonagall of their whereabouts.

In record time, Dora had laced up her boots and dressed for combat. "Well, boys, what are we waiting for? We've already been invited."

Harry grinned, pleased that no-one would be telling him to stay put. Without hesitation he opened the Floo to twelve Grimmauld Place and vanished in a flash of green flame. Dora followed with Remus coming last, hoping they could stop Greyback before he ruined anyone else's life.

In less than a minute, Remus' apartments were completely deserted.

*~*

Hermione did not hear the Floo activate from the lab in the basement but she did hear Tonks collide with the tea kettle. She really ought to find a new place to keep it. She smiled as she listened to the clamour one floor above. Tonks certainly had a colourful command of the English language.

Hastily, Hermione turned the flame heating the cauldron down low to keep it at just a simmer. Luckily, she was at a place in the process that called for exactly twelve hours of completely undisturbed brewing. With everything in its place, she ran upstairs to greet her visitor.

"Hermione!" It sounded like Professor Lupin.

Hermione closed the basement door behind her and rounded a corner in the hallway to find not only Tonks and Professor Lupin, but Harry as well. She tried, not very successfully, to hide her astonishment.

"What's the matter?" she asked, quickly reading Lupin's grim expression and taking note of Tonks' fidgeting. Harry looked a little awkward but that could have been due to how their previous encounter ended.

"Greyback's leading an attack in Belfast and the Aurors are out of commission at the moment. Where's Draco?"

Hermione cleared her throat and tired to look convincing. She didn't want them to know that she hadn't a clue as to Draco's whereabouts. "Out. He needed some time to himself."

"Perfectly understandable," Lupin said.

"Why does Malfoy need time to himself," Harry asked perplexedly. He still spat out his name like it was something nasty.

Hermione sighed, uncertain whether she should say anything or not. She was, however, glad that Draco was absent at the moment. Not only would seeing Harry be likely to cause even more problems but news of Greyback's movements this soon after becoming a werewolf at the same monster's hand might have been a bit too much for him.

A _crack_ of Apparition just outside spared Hermione the effort. Moody entered a second later.

"Mad-Eye," Tonks said.

The old Auror grunted a general greeting. "They've targeted a Wizarding neighbourhood in the north-eastern quarter of the city. Reports approximate their number at twenty."

Without further ado he pulled a crushed soda can from his cloak, set it on the floor and turned it into a Portkey.

Hermione's concentration had been so focussed on Draco that it only just occurred to her exactly what sort of fight she would soon be walking into. She caught Tonks' eye before addressing Moody.

"Is Greyback in werewolf or human form?"

"Unconfirmed. Let's get a move on. Diggle, Jones, and Dodge are en route."

"Nine against twenty?" Harry asked, not looking pleased at their odds.

" Kingsley's trying to rally the Aurors."

A flutter of anticipation and nervousness bounced around Hermione's stomach. She snapped her wand out of its holster. "There's no time like the present."

Tonks grinned. "My sentiments exactly."

*~*

Whether or not Mad-Eye planned it Hermione didn't know, but they arrived at the dead centre of the fray. Quickly they dispersed without needing any further instruction, Moody heading west solo, Remus and Tonks heading north down the street, while Harry and Hermione sprinted eastward, taking temporary shelter at the mouth of a darkened alleyway. There were a lot more than twenty assailants, and Hermione counted at least three Death Eaters. She wondered if this was Dark Lord-sanctioned or if Greyback had merely been bored. It seemed to lack the coordination that Death Eater attacks usually possessed.

"We need to find Greyback," Hermione whispered to Harry. "His men are useless without him. If we can take him out of the fight, they will more than likely flee."

"Your right," Harry agreed.

"Let's go. This way."

Together, they ran down the street towards what seemed to be the frontline, keeping beneath the storefront awnings. The neighbourhood was an extremely scaled-down version of Diagon Alley and actually had more residences than small businesses. Hermione wondered, worriedly, how many people were cowering in their homes.

They travelled three blocks without being noticed before ducking into an empty doorway. The streets were now filling with frightened residents, making duelling much more difficult for the Order. Death Eaters and werewolves hardly cared if an innocent bystander were to be injured but the Order members were there to protect the civilians as much as they were to put an end to the raid.

Hermione spotted Tonks and Remus across the street. Remus was carrying two small, screaming children away from two armed men while Tonks covered him. Moody was nowhere in sight but his voice was easily distinguishable above the raucous. There were two ­_cracks_ of Apparition just a ways up the street. In the weak lamp light, Hermione recognised Diggle and Jones.

Unfortunately their arrival was immediately followed by three more black robes and white masks. One of the newly-arrived Death Eaters promptly fired the Killing Curse at the two Order members. They only just dodged the jet of green light.

The Death Eater cackled gleefully. It was a bone-chilling sound, one Hermione had only heard a couple of times, but was sure she would never forget.

"Bellatrix," Harry hissed, his eyes fixated on her.

He was not likely to have forgotten the woman who murdered his godfather, either. Before Hermione could utter a word, Harry had taken off at a dead sprint towards the deranged woman.

"Harry!" Hermione called out. He ignored her. "Damnit."

_I guess Greyback will just have to wait._

Hermione chased after him.

Harry had much improved his duelling skills since he last met with Bellatrix Lestrange at age sixteen and he initially caught her off guard. She only had time for one cruel barb about Sirius before the duel was in full swing, Harry firing a myriad of curses and hexes so ferociously that Bellatrix actually had trouble keeping up with him from time to time.

Hermione, knowing that all of Harry's attention was focussed on Bellatrix, set herself to watching his back. The other two Death Eaters who had arrived with Bellatrix let her deal with Harry on her own but they had by no means removed themselves from the battle. Hermione engaged them immediately, only belatedly realising that she had just entered into a two versus one duel with two skilled Death Eaters.

_Shitshitshit what have I gotten myself into? _

_Good call, that one._

Even her inner voice sounded a little desperate.

Hermione forced her insecurities to the back of her mind. This was her first real battle since that night in Ipswich and she was a bit uncertain of her abilities outside of the training room.

She suddenly wished Draci was there to watch her back.

Hermione shrugged off the thought; Draco wasn't coming. At least Harry was there, even if he was caught up in his own duel.

The narrow intersection she and Harry held against their opponents was soon heavy with the smoke that so often accompanied excessive wand-work. Several of the more destructive curses thrown from both sides had blown holes into pavement and building alike, adding powdered stone and ash to the swirling smoke.

Hermione stifled a cough, choking on the acrid air. She didn't want to give away her position. Instinctively, she ducked as a brilliant blue curse flashed just past her face and into the shop behind her.

She heard Harry cry out in his half-muffled way and Bellatrix giggled maniacally. They were still close, she could tell, but she couldn't see through the smoke.

At least her soupy foe could also be her friend; the smoke hid her from her enemy as much as it hid them from her. Hermione decided to change tactics. She cast a quick Silencing Charm on her feet before snapping her wand in her holster and working her way around the two Death Eaters, outflanking her opponents. Hermione was near enough now that she could just discern their shadowy silhouettes.

"Did we get her?" one asked.

In the back of her mind a quiet panic was forming caused by the unsettling absence of Harry's voice. She hoped he was all right but knew she needed to take care of these two before she could safely attend to Harry.

"I think so."

Three more steps and Hermione was on top of them. She delivered a single sharp blow to the base of the skull of the one on the right. He would be unconscious for at least twenty minutes. Before he even hit the ground, she dropped into a defensive crouch, just dodging the Stunner that sailed over her head. Quickly rolling to the left, she popped up and kicked the wizard's extended arm, effectively disarming him.

Then he punched her in the face.

Hermione reeled, pain blossoming across her cheek, almost completely losing her balance. She was shocked by the blow almost as much as by the fact that it happened at all. Most Death Eaters deemed physical violence beneath them – like it was something which only base and vulgar Muggles were subject to. It would figure she'd pick a fight with the only one who was not of a similar opinion.

Tasting blood, Hermione recovered just in time to block the next blow. Her arm was violently jarred by the impact but he had momentarily left himself exposed. She balled her right hand into a fist and landed a solid upper-cut into his ribs, nearly crying out as the bones of her hand ground together, threatening to snap under the pressure. When he doubled over slightly, Hermione fisted his hair in her hand and drove his face into her rising knee. She felt his nose break. That hurt too but she expected he was feeling it more acutely than she.

This was nothing at all like sparring.

It was with a mighty effort which Hermione pushed her various discomforts to the back of her mind.

The rain started up again, fat drops that felt like shards of ice pelting her skin. She was soaked almost instantly, although her Muggle jeans and jumper were far less of a disadvantage than the robes and cloak the Death Eater wore.

The downpour quickly began to clear the air, giving Hermione a better view of her opponent and her surroundings. She did not recognise him. Harry and Bellatrix were nowhere to be seen.

The Death Eater recovered more quickly than she would have liked and swung again. Hermione ducked, sweeping her leg around and knocking his feet out from beneath him. He landed on the ground with a heavy thud.

They both spotted his wand laying barely a metre away at the same time. As Hermione pounced in an effort to reach the weapon first, she belatedly realised that it would have been much easier to just flick her out her own wand and hex him.

_Oh well._

Hermione landed heavily on his back, her weight bearing him to the ground, his fingers falling just centimetres short of the prize. Hermione attempted to scrabble over his body but he threw an elbow back, catching her solidly in the jaw and effectively dislodging her.

Lying on her back with rain in her eyes and blood in her mouth, Hermione could do nothing but wait for her brain to cease vibrating. She was disoriented, winded, and ninety per-cent certain that she had a concussion.

"_Crucio_!"

A blood-curdling scream ripped from her chest as every muscle in Hermione's body went rigid in agony. The curse tore through her, leaving her insides on fire and her blood boiling as it was forced through her veins by her erratically beating heart, and all she could think was: _Dear God, let it stop._

Then there was a flash of red and it did.

*~*

To say the least, Sinead was shocked to see Hermione's friend Draco standing in front of her store in the middle of a torrential downpour. He was staring blankly at the door, as though he couldn't quite figure out how it got there. She could see why Hermione was so keen to help him. He looked utterly lost.

There was one customer in the store and he was way back in the darkest corner, tapping away at his laptop. Gregory was a regular and Sinead trusted him not to pull any stunts of the shoplifting variety.

The heavy door always stuck when it rained so she had to heave it open. Sinead waited patiently for Draco's eyes to regain their focus and acknowledge her. It took nearly a minute.

He blinked three times. "Sinead."

"Draco."

Now that she was closer and could see him more clearly, she realised with no small amount of concern that he looked like he was about to collapse. He was also covered in mud and soaking wet, which just made him look even more wretched.

"What say you come in and I'll make you a cuppa, hm?"

Leaving the door open, Sinead turned and walked away, hoping he'd follow of his own accord. She was a tiny lass and didn't think she could bodily move him against his will, but the boy needed to get out of the rain before he caught his death. She was relieved to hear the door click shut behind her

In the break room, Draco sat in the exact same seat Hermione had occupied the previous night. Sinead found it curious that he had made his way to her doorstep, especially considering they'd only met once, and briefly. Shrugging it off as superfluous, she set the tea brewing before taking a cosy afghan from the cupboard and draping it over Draco's now shivering shoulders.

"You'll get pneumonia, running around in this weather," she said, leaning back against the counter.

Draco said nothing. He seemed to be on another planet, totally spaced out. Sinead remembered what Hermione had told her: Draco was incurably ill. He was obviously taking it very hard.

When the tea was ready, Sinead handed him a cup and resumed her post. She watched him sip the hot liquid for a minute before her curiosity bested what little reserve she had.

"Draco, why are you here?" She could have smacked herself.

_Way to be tactful._

She started again, awkwardly now as his cool grey eyes had settled on her. Even in his current state of bewilderment, he was intense.

"I mean, any friend of Hermione's is a friend of mine and you're always welcome here, but why _are_ you? Here, I mean."

­_Eloquent. _

Again, Sinead thought she would go unanswered, but he surprised her.

"I don't know," Draco said slowly. "I was, uh, I was running and I recognised the store, so I stopped."

"From the looks of it you've been running for a while." Draco tensed, and she wondered if she'd hit a nerve. "Do you want to talk?"

Draco snorted and scrubbed his face with his free hand. "You and Hermione are a lot alike. You both think a cuppa and a good heart-to-heart will fix everything."

Sinead did not know whether or not she ought to be offended. "Well, it certainly can't make things worse."

"That's what Hermione said."

"Very wise of her," Sinead replied, a smile creeping into her voice.

Draco snorted again, this time with a little less annoyance.

"She said you two had a row last night."

He arched an eyebrow, surprised for only a moment, before accepting it as fact. "Yes, we did. What did she tell you?" he asked uncomfortably.

"Just that you're sick. She wasn't very forthcoming with the details and I didn't push for them. Not that they really matter."

"You mean you're not going to ask me a hundred questions until I reveal all the sordid details of my life?"

"It's not really any of my business."

"Maybe you and Hermione are less alike than I thought," he replied, surprise touching his voice.

"She means well." Sinead sat next to Draco on the couch. "But I do know one thing: don't push away the people who are trying to help you."

Draco stiffly set his cup on the table, made uneasy by the turn in the conversation. Sinead continued hastily before Draco could shut her down.

"My father was sick for a long time before he died. I was just a kid when he found out, so I didn't really know what was happening. At first he was depressed and withdrawn, but eventually it turned into anger. By the time I'd entered university he'd divorced my mum and moved out; he'd fired me from the shop and changed the locks. He just pushed us all away, and the harder we tried to get to him, the harder he pushed."

Sinead paused, the memories of those near fifteen years weighing heavily on her heart. She had always loved her father dearly, and still wished that things could have been different.

Draco took the opportunity to speak. His eyes were glued to the floor, making it difficult for Sinead to tell whether he was taking her words to heart, or if he was merely curious.

"How did he die?"

"He hung himself in his flat," Sinead said bluntly.

Draco's white-blond head popped up so violently she thought his neck might snap. There was a long, burning moment where he studied her, searching for any sign of deceit.

"Why are you telling me this?" he croaked, his voice ragged, totally belying his calm expression. Sinead had never seen anyone close themselves off so quickly.

Sinead met his eyes. "Because whatever it is you have _does not_ have to define you. It cannot change your personality or your character unless you let it. Don't let the depression or the anger consume you until it's all you know. And, for the love of God, don't alienate those who care about you."

With very exact movements, Draco stood, folded the blanket and draped it across the back of the sofa. "Thank you for the tea," he said in even, measured tones. "But I have to go now."

Draco's legs were about twice as long as Sinead's, so she was nearly jogging to keep up with him as he wound his way through to the front of the store. He opened the door effortlessly and stepped back out into the rain.

"Draco, wait!" she called over the roar of the downpour. He turned to face her, almost impatiently. "Can I at least order you a taxi?"

He hesitated for a moment, shoving his sopping wet hair back off his forehead.

Sinead froze, her brain momentarily screeching to a halt when she saw the tattoo Draco had on the inside of his right wrist. It was unmistakably a labyrinth, and identical to the one adorning her own lower back.

"No, thank you. I'll go on foot."

He was gone before she could formulate anything coherent. Her head was literally spinning with questions, and she had no one to answer them.

Suddenly, Hermione's odd research requests were beginning to make a little bit more sense.

*~*

Draco fled the bookshop, more than a little shaken.

_He hung himself in his flat._

The words were stuck on repeat, racing through his brain over and over again, making him wish he'd never heard them uttered. Because hadn't the very same thought occurred to him more than once since the previous afternoon? Because wouldn't it be better to make his own end, than to live the rest of his life in ignominy? Because, gods above, _anything_ had to be better than this hell, this shame he was now forced to endure.

It would be so easy.

Or would it?

Draco tried to imagine how he would do it. Would he use his wand, long and slender, malignantly reflecting the candlelight? Or a potion, swift and graceful in its lethality? Or would he opt for a method more Muggle: a pistol? a knife? a bridge?

He had trouble seeing the end. None of the images concluded with his lifeless body on the ground.

Draco wondered morosely if anyone would notice if he were to suddenly go missing. Would they think he'd returned to the Dark Lord, or a coward who had fled into the night yet again? Would anyone even bother to look for him?

Hermione would.

Draco knew this like he knew the Earth was round and water was wet. Hermione would look for him, not necessarily because it was him, but because it was her. She just cared about people like that. There was also the possibility that the curiosity would kill her.

An unpleasant scene sprang abruptly and forcefully into his mind: the look on Hermione's face when she did find him, broken and unmoving.

Draco shuddered.

Against his will, every previous scenario played through, all of them ending with Hermione's stricken expression: the loss, the disappointment, the betrayal. The heartache? Draco was unsure where he stood with Hermione or even what his own true feelings were with regard to her, but he did know that he did not want to be _that_ guy. The one that let her down, the one that left because he didn't care about or respect her enough to see past his own pain.

He had promised her that he wouldn't be _that_ guy, and it was one promise, he realised, he would rather like to keep. Draco was sick to death of disappointing people, and the thought of disappointing Hermione in such a manner made his chest tighten with that strange, foreign feeling. Again.

The feeling gave him pause – and more questions to which he was not certain he wished to know the answers, namely if this was what one's universe imploding felt like.

"I say, son, are you all right?"

Draco jumped out of his reverie and nearly out of his skin. He was no longer moving and, judging by the odd look the old man standing in front of him was giving him, he'd probably been standing there for some time.

Draco did not answer right away, and the old man, impatient and poncho-clad, poked him rather roughly in the ribs with his cane.

"I said—"

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, disliking the man immediately.

"Well, then, don't just stand there like one o'clock half-struck. Get out of the bloody way." He gave Draco another whack with his cane for good measure.

A little bewildered by the old man's classlessness, Draco dumbly stepped out of the way. The old man hobbled past him, throwing a baleful glare his way and muttering about the perceived entitlement of youth.

Draco had had no idea that standing in the middle of a mostly deserted sidewalk might be considered an entitlement.

"Which way to Grimmauld Place?" he shouted to the man's retreating back.

"Eh?"

"Grimmauld Place, you belligerent old man. I let you hit me with your cane, now tell me how to get there."

The old man seemed to think this a fair trade. He jabbed southward with his cane. "Ten streets down, three streets to the left."

Draco did not bother to thank the crazy Muggle as he set off at a slow jog.

Draco did not need to run through the house searching for Hermione to know that she was absent. The mansion was completely silent, save for a few random creaks and bangs that always accompanied the settling of old buildings. After checking the kitchen table, the library and the nightstand for notes, Draco admitted to himself that he was a little anxious. Hermione rarely left the house and she always left a note; that she had not told him that wherever she went, she left in a hurry, which probably meant that there had been another attack. He hoped she was just helping at the Infirmary and not in the thick of it.

Who was he kidding? Hermione was _always_ in the thick of it. And here he was, sopping wet and bemoaning his pitiful existence when he ought to be out there earning his keep. Draco detested having no real role but, other than befriending Hermione, he had no clue how to go about earning any trust or respect among the other Order members.

It was a little bizarre admitting, even to himself, that he wanted their respect, their trust, and not due to an insane bout of altruism, but because he was finally in a position to make a name for himself again. Lucius Malfoy had given the Malfoy name a dreadful connotation, being a sadistic murderer and all, but he was a Malfoy, who were, by rule, proud, cunning, ambitious and just a wee bit pragmatic. Draco could still be those things but instead of grovelling before another sadistic murderer he was now with people who might eventually treat him as an equal. And the Order of the Phoenix obviously had few qualms about counting a werewolf amongst their number, as attested to by Remus Lupin's elevated status. Besides, as much as he was grateful for his odd relationship with Hermione, he did not wish to be forever known as her charity case-come-sidekick.

Funny, how less than an hour ago he had been seriously considering suicide as a viable option.

Well, without knowing where to go, and immediately ruling out visiting Hogwarts alone, there wasn't really much Draco could do but wait. And have a shower, a hot one, before he caught his pneumonia, as Sinead put it.

Thirty minutes later, warm again, sore as hell, and deeply hungry, Draco sat no-so-patiently in the first floor parlour awaiting Hermione's return. He hadn't realised how accustomed he had become to their pointless yet benign bickering, the annoying way Hermione would tap her foot against the table leg while she took her never-ending notes, or the way she silently mouthed the words she was reading. And dinner. Hermione was a pretty good cook, and Draco was utterly hopeless in the kitchen. Toast and jam were the extent of his culinary prowess.

To his immense relief, the Floo activated in the kitchen. Putting down the book he hadn't been reading on the sofa and not even bothering to feign disinterest at Hermione's arrival, he went to the kitchen and found...Neville Longbottom.

_Well, that's disappointing._

Draco hastily schooled his face into an unnervingly passive expression.

"Longbottom," he drawled.

Longbottom fumbled, totally surprised, and nearly dropped the large box he had precariously anchored on one hip. He was instinctively going for his wand, but realised belatedly that it was on the wrong side of his body, and blocked by the same box he was trying not to drop.

"Malfoy," he said, more steadily than Draco would have expected.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked in that bored tone that always drove Gryffindors mad.

Longbottom must have remembered that Draco obviously had permission to be there, what with the Fidelius Charm in place, because he stopped trying to reach his wand and attempted nonchalance as he hefted the box onto the kitchen table. It was amazing that Longbottom had gotten it though the Floo without destroying it.

"One might ask you the same thing, Malfoy."

Draco wondered how everyone around here managed to make his name sound like a derogative. Nevertheless, he merely stared at Longbottom, making him squirm. It wasn't difficult.

Longbottom huffed in annoyance. "I intern with Professor Sprout three days a week. She asked me to bring Hermione some extra supplies so she wouldn't have to come back for them."

Draco slowly moved to examine the contents of the box, his curiosity piqued as to what Hermione would need extra supplies for. He smirked as Longbottom edged away from him. About two steps away, however, it was quickly wiped from his face as a wave of nausea hit him full force.

"What the hell is in there?" he demanded, quickly backing away again. That was distinctly unpleasant.

"I don't know," Longbottom responded, throwing Draco a curious glance. He began to rummage through the box, naming off potion ingredients, some of which Draco knew must have come from Slughorn, like powdered dragon talon. But none of it would have caused such a strong physical reaction. Lastly, however, Longbottom unwrapped a linen bundle, revealing two or three bunches of the Wolfsbane plant, and suddenly it all made sense.

The Wolfsbane plant was lethal to werewolves in their human form, even to the touch. Just being so near to the noxious plant had made Draco queasy.

Longbottom may have been pants at potions, but he knew his plants. His eyebrows climbed into his hairline as he registered what it was he was holding, his eyes darting rapidly between Draco and the freshly harvested herb in his hands.

Draco threw Longbottom a steely glare, daring him to ask.

He didn't. Instead he rewrapped the bundle and placed it gently into the box. "Where's Hermione's lab, do you know?"

Considering the basement was the only part of the house which Draco had not explored, he could only assume that was where Hermione's lab was, even though he hadn't even known she had one on the premises.

Quickly composing himself, Draco led Longbottom into the basement. It was large, like the attic, but divided into two rooms. One was filled with odds and ends: furniture, books, and some Black family heirlooms. Draco could feel the wards prickle against his skin as he passed the door. The other was Hermione's lab and, like every other thing she controlled, it was tidy and well organised, as well as thoroughly stocked with the basics. Draco seriously doubted that she needed to borrow ingredients from Hogwarts on a regular basis.

Except for extremely complex potions, full of rare ingredients, like the Wolfsbane potion.

There were many potions that used the Wolfsbane plant. But that did not stop Draco's heart from thundering in his ears as he approached the worktable. Careful not to disturb the brewing potion or arrayed ingredients, Draco read the parchment taped with Spell-O-Tape to the surface of the table.

Hermione was brewing the Wolfsbane potion, or was trying to, at least.

Draco was... touched. Hermione wasn't just brewing the potion, she was brewing it for him. Lupin had been a werewolf for longer than Hermione had been alive and she hadn't been brewing it for him, at least not to Draco's knowledge.

A little overwhelmed by Hermione's actions and more than a little queasy from his proximity to so much Wolfsbane, Draco hurried back upstairs, leaving Longbottom alone in the basement.

Back in the parlour, Draco stood at the window, hands braced on the frame, and watched the rain renew its assault on the already soggy ground.

When it rains, it fucking pours, he thought tiredly.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** I'm baaack. And in less than a year! And less than 10K words! Wonders never cease, my mother says. Anyway, a gagillion thanks to Lyr942 for getting this back to me in less than twenty-four hours, and a half a gagillion thanks each to Bree (for being nice, even when I send her crap. And for the timtams ;D) and Wendy (for constantly reminding me that Fiona Apple is for Hermione and Marilyn Manson is for Draco), for all the wonderful input and support. This wouldn't have been finished without them. Give them cookies.

Let me know what you guys thought of Harry, okay? I'm not very comfortable writing him, and would love to hear your opinions on how I managed it this time. Thanks and enjoy!

**Chapter 17**

* * *

**25 September**

Harry was panicking – had been since he'd first heard Hermione's screams. Abandoning his chase after Bellatrix Lestrange immediately, he returned at a dead sprint to the part of town where he'd left Hermione. He found her being tortured, a Death Eater shamelessly applying the Cruciatus Curse to his currently helpless best friend. Her screams reverberated right down to the very core of him, making his breath catch and his stomach turn dangerously.

Having the advantage of surprise, however, Harry quickly Stunned and bound the man. Then he knelt by Hermione, his hands frantically searching her face, head, and arms for obvious injuries. She wasn't moving.

_Oh God._

It was Ipswich all over again.

"Shit. Hermione, wake up," Harry said, roughly shaking her. "Please, Hermione."

Feeling a little desperate, Harry drew his wand. "_Ennervate!_"

He sighed with relief as Hermione's eyelids fluttered open. She groaned.

"Hermione, can you hear me?"

At last she focussed her eyes on him. "Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me. Are you all right? Do you think you can move? We need to get you back to Hogwarts." He was babbling.

Hermione stiffly pushed herself up into a sitting position, batting away Harry's hands as he tried to help.

"I'm fine," she gritted out through clenched teeth, though it was obvious she was favouring her left arm. "And we can't leave until the Aurors arrive. Greyback may still be here."

Gingerly, Hermione climbed to her feet and brushed her hair away from her face, wincing as she made contact with a spectacular bruise on her cheek. Quickly, Harry lit his wand to see her better. Her face was a little swollen on the other side as well, and her forearm was oddly swollen and bruised.

"Hermione," Harry said, hoping he sounded serious enough. "You are not fine. I think your arm may be broken."

"Then fix it," she growled. "You know the charm."

Harry studied her face for a moment before realising that, short of forcibly side-along Apparating her back to Scotland, he wasn't going to win this one. And even the great Harry Potter wasn't brave enough to deal with the wrath that would befall him if he forced Hermione Granger to do something she didn't want to do.

"_Episkey."_

Hermione bit back a yelp as the bones of her arm put themselves back in their places.

"Thank you," she said, cautiously testing her range of motion. "Let's go."

Before Harry could object, Hermione had taken off westward towards the commotion. The part of town they were currently in had become deserted about the time Bellatrix Lestrange and her friends had arrived, which had been a good thing while they were duelling, but he and Hermione had now been left behind by the rest of the combatants.

Harry caught up to her, wondering briefly why she wanted so badly to find Greyback. Then he remembered Malfoy. Lupin had told him that it was Greyback who nearly murdered the slippery prat.

It was looking like Hermione wanted revenge.

Well, Harry didn't really know what to think about that. Hermione had never been a vengeful person, and it was downright bizarre to think of her doing something so reckless for someone like Malfoy. Again, Lupin's words came back; he'd said that Malfoy had changed. Was it possible that he'd changed enough that Harry would help Hermione to avenge him?

There was also the fact that Harry was hardly in a place to criticise Hermione. He'd spent the last three years of his life seeking revenge from one person or another: Voldemort, Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, Peter Pettigrew. Judging her would make him the worst kind of hypocrite. That didn't mean he had to like admitting it.

_This is for Hermione,_ he told himself, over and over again. _I've got to keep her safe._ The thought of doing anything for Malfoy made him ill. Not that it was terribly difficult to convince himself that Hermione would need his help. After all, it wasn't an exaggeration to say that Fenrir Greyback was nothing short of a vicious, murderous monster. If their roles were reversed, Harry would want Hermione by his side.

Following Hermione closely, they wove through the city, dodging friend, foe, and stray spells alike, keeping mostly to the shadows. There wasn't a Death Eater alive who wouldn't give their left arm to deliver Harry Potter and Hermione Granger to Voldemort on a golden platter.

The Aurors were finally beginning to arrive, for which Harry was grateful. Less than a dozen Order members and a few citizens brave enough to defend their homes were barely enough to contain the attackers, let alone run them off.

Suddenly Hermione skidded to a stop. Harry crashed into her.

"What the-"

"Shh. I think I heard him," Hermione replied in an impatient whisper.

Harry wanted to ask how she could have heard Greyback's voice above the raucous, never mind recognise it. Or how she'd even recognise it at all. To Harry's knowledge, Hermione had never directly encountered Fenrir Greyback.

What the hell had Hermione been up to while he and Ron were gone?

A building just down the street to the right spontaneously burst into flame. That's where Hermione went. Harry could see three figures silhouetted against the blaze. Two were fighting one, but Harry couldn't tell who the good guys were and who the bad.

Catching up to Hermione, he grabbed her arm and dragged her to a stop. She glared at him.

"What, Harry?"

"This man killed Snape, Hermione."

"Yes. And?"

"You know I was never a fan of Snape, but he was pretty handy with a wand. If he couldn't survive Greyback, what-"

"Please, don't tell me that _you_ are preaching caution to _me_."

Harry couldn't deny that irony.

"How many dangerous situations have I chased you into? We can do this."

_We._

Harry almost smiled.

Hermione saw his acceptance before he even had a chance to voice it. Besides, it would be good to fight next to Hermione again. He really had missed her.

"All we have to do is distract him, keep him occupied until the Ministry arrives. He must have come here for a reason."

Harry doubted Greyback needed a reason to wreak havoc, but chose not to argue the point.

"Do we have a plan?"

"Well, no, but whatever happens we need to stick together."

Harry nodded gravely. It had already been proven how disastrous separating could be. There was also the fact that whether or not Hermione wanted – or needed it – Harry still wanted to keep her safe. Well, as safe as was possible.

Deep, cruel laughter reverberated throughout the narrow street, killing Harry's response on his lips and sending gooseflesh crawling up his spine.

*~*

Hermione whipped her head around at the unsettling sound. What she saw put her feet into motion without her conscious consent.

Greyback was standing with his back to her and Harry and he had the man against whom he'd been duelling held high above the ground by his neck. The third man, obviously one of Greyback's accomplices, was scanning the other end of the street for danger, leaving both unaware of Harry and Hermione's presence. He was tall and lanky and a little twitchy, but Hermione could not discern much more.

"Tell me where he is, and I promise I'll kill you quickly, Keeper."

The man gurgled something that might have been a laugh. "Piss off, you wanker."

Hermione skidded to a halt a few metres away and flicked out her wand.

"Put him down, Greyback," she shouted, much more bravely than she felt.

Both of the werewolves turned to greet the newcomers.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Harry muttered to her right. He had his wand drawn and aimed as well.

"Me, too," she whispered back.

_Me, too._

_Shut up._

She now had everyone's undivided attention. Greyback snarled, recognising her, and tossed his latest victim aside like a rag doll. The twitchy man had his wand trained on the fallingman before he even hit the ground. Amazingly, he retained consciousness, barely.

"Ah, little Granger's come looking for a rematch," he growled. "And Potter, too."

Hermione fought to keep her voice steady. Greyback was terrifying. "I ought to be, considering how our last encounter ended. I jumped at the chance to humiliate you again."

"Hermione!" hissed Harry in horror and disbelief, and maybe, she hoped, admiration.

_Dear, sweet Merlin __you are an idiot._

Greyback took a few menacing steps forward, but checked himself.

_Interesting.__ Since when has Greyback ever exercised restraint?_

"Where's the little Malfoy whelp? Still cowering in terror, or has he fled with his tail between his legs?"

_That's interesting, too._

Hermione refused to discuss Draco with Fenrir Greyback.

"Am I sensing a bit of bruised ego?" she suggested, as calmly as though she were offering him a cup of tea. "Wounded pride, perhaps? You must be slipping, at your age, to have allowed one so young and inexperienced to escape you with such ease."

That seemed to be the end of Greyback's limited self-restraint. He lunged, throwing the first hex, which was immediately met by one each from Harry and Hermione. It was strange fighting beside Harry again, and not Draco. She had been so long from Harry's side that his style was now unfamiliar and she had trouble predicting what he would do next. With Draco, it was like he was part of her; she always just knew, and he seemed the same with her. She and Draco had a fluidity that she doubted she would ever share again with Harry.

The next fifteen minutes were spent in a haze of reflexes and wand smoke. The fight escalated to such heights that Hermione spotted the twitchy werewolf kick his captive in the face, knocking him out, and join in.

Harry and Hermione lost ground quickly after that. Greyback's speed and force easily made up for his lack of finesse. And now that it was a two-on-two fight and they were forced to divide their attention, Hermione actually became concerned that they might lose. The twitchy werewolf was not a spectacular duellist either but his position forced Harry and Hermione to go back to back with Hermione squaring off against Greyback and Harry the other.

They carried on this way for some time until Hermione felt her wand fly out of her hand and clatter to the ground somewhere behind her.

_Shit._

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said, a bit breathlessly. "I tried to block it."

Greyback laughed. He had size, speed, strength and a total lack of conscience against her, and now she was without a wand as well.

Hermione waited for the panic to set in. It didn't. In fact, she was remarkably clear-headed.

Greyback sent something nasty and brownish towards her, but Hermione easily jumped aside, pushing Harry clear as well. The curse exploded flagstones, sending rock flying everywhere.

Hermione grabbed a fist-sized chunk of stone next to where she lay and threw it was hard as she could. It hit Greyback squarely in the jaw. Enraged, he began a rapid-fire succession of the same spell, forcing Hermione to roll across the slick ground to avoid being blasted to smithereens.

After several failed attempts at obliterating Hermione, Greyback finally grew frustrated and rushed her.

Desperately, Hermione scrambled to her feet and ran. Three steps later, he tackled her. Gasping for breath, she rolled onto her back so she might try to defend herself.

She managed to punch him once, and may as well have been made of straw for all the good it did. The only result was that her hand was throbbing now again.

With a sound that might have been a laugh or a growl, Greyback grabbed her wrists and pinned them painfully to the ground above her head.

"Go on, scream for me, Granger."

Hermione spat in his face. "You're disgusting."

Then his hand was wrapped around her throat and he was looking extremely pleased with himself. Hermione fought frantically with her free hand, but her vision was quickly darkening.

_Now_ she was panicking.

Her magic sprang to life. Her fingers were tingling with it but it could have been the lack of oxygen. She couldn't tell. Just when she was about to let go, to slip into the darkness or see what happened, Greyback was gone and she could breathe again.

Gasping and coughing, Hermione rolled to her stomach and looked around. Expecting to see Harry nearby, she was quite surprised to see the man who had been unconscious wielding a flaming four-foot length of two-by-four like a club and very handily pummelling Greyback with it. The old werewolf had been taken completely off guard by the attack and had yet to regain his composure.

Knowing she needed her wand, Hermione made herself get up and look for it. She found it a couple of minutes later, near where Harry's opponent had been. They had moved off a little ways, leaving the area clear. A short look about told her Harry was indeed all right, for which she was relieved.

A cry of pain diverted her attention. It appeared as though her rescuer was now in need of rescue. Hermione turned to see the man stumble to his knees, as Greyback raised the confiscated beam above his head for what would surely be a killing blow.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" Hermione screamed with everything she had. But her concentration was almost broken as the Patronus bled from the end of her wand. It started off as an otter before fluidly morphing into a snow leopard and then what could only be a werewolf. The silvery form never ceased transforming, as though her heart did not know itself.

With an effort, she reigned in her confusion and sent the Patronus flying directly towards Greyback, harassing him into losing his balance. With a howl of outrage, Fenrir Greyback stumbled and fell backward into the burning shop.

"Sir!" the second werewolf yelled frantically.

Completely ignoring Harry, he sprinted into the building. An instant later there was a loud _crack_ of Disapparition.

Hermione fell to her knees, her whole body sagging in achy relief. It was over; he was gone. Harry was at her side in an instant, crushing her in a fierce hug. She returned it as best she could.

Her mind was reeling. Her Patronus had changed. Why? Not to mention that Greyback's pre-duel behaviour had been a bit peculiar. He was not a man known to hold back, for any reason.

Harry was babbling. "I tried to get to you but he was just too bloody fast. I couldn't seem to land anything and I never got more than two steps away before he'd fire something nasty at me..."

"It's all right," Hermione said carelessly. Her attentions were otherwise engaged.

The anonymous man was haltingly making his way towards them. He was obviously in pain, limping slightly, holding onto his right side as though his ribs were broken as a small rivulet of blood fell from the side of his head. But he was smiling.

Hermione stood to greet him, as did Harry.

"Ol' Greyback bit off a little more than he could chew, eh? If you'll pardon the paltry pun."

Remarkably, Hermione found herself smiling back. When the man extended his hand, she did not hesitate in taking it.

"Lenny," he said cheerily, as though he thought it the grandest of names. "Pleased to meet you, though I dearly regret the circumstances."

"Likewise. I'm Hermione. This is—"

"James," Harry interrupted.

"Well, Hermione, James, I'd offer you a pint on the house but, as you can see," he said, gesturing to the conflagration, "my pub is in no fit state to be receiving customers."

A loud crash sounded from within the burning building as a beam fell in a flurry of sparks. Everyone winced.

"We're currently undergoing renovations."

Lenny chuckled at his own joke, and immediately regretted it. His ribs were apparently causing him far more pain than he was letting on.

Swiftly, Harry stepped to Lenny's side, allowing him to lean on him for support, while Hermione conjured a plain wooden chair, in no state to attempt anything more extravagant. Harry gently lowered Lenny into it.

Hermione knelt next to him. "May I?"

Lenny nodded, trying to banish a grimace as he lifted his arm so she could raise his shirt. Pushing her sleeves to her elbows, Hermione did so, revealing bruising that probably looked worse than it was, but hurt nonetheless. She began waving her wand over the area, trying to assess any internal damage.

"So," Harry began, more, she thought, to distract Lenny than anything. "Why did Greyback set your pub on fire? I mean, he's usually more prone to random maulings than arson."

Lenny paused long enough for Hermione to halt her examination and look up, only to find him watching her.

"You look like a clever lass, why don't you tell me?"

Hermione replayed the scene in her mind. Considering Greyback had been tasked by Voldemort to find Draco, and he had been questioning Lenny as to someone's whereabouts, it seemed a legitimate response.

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Got it in one."

Hermione's brow crinkled in confusion. "But why you?"

"I could say the same thing to you. I heard what he asked you. I also heard your reply. Now, the real question, I think, is what would Hermione Granger and Harry Potter know about Draco Malfoy's whereabouts, and why?

Harry and Hermione exchanged slightly panicked looks – Malfoy was a fugitive, after all – before Harry aimed his wand at Lenny's face. The last thing Harry wanted was to be linked to Draco by someone not affiliated with the Order, even if he seemed a nice enough bloke.

"You've got to cover up that scar, mate. And 'James' is hardly the craftiest of pseudonyms."

Harry bristled and opened his mouth to retort but Hermione cut him off. If Harry flew off the handle now, she'd never get any information and she desperately wanted some answers.

"Why did Greyback come to you for Malfoy?" she repeated firmly. To call Draco by his surname alone seemed strange now. "Why should you know anything about him?"

Lenny met her gaze evenly. "Let's just say that young Malfoy and I had a friend in common." Then, quick as lightning, he reached out and snatched her left hand and twisted it until it was palm up.

"Oi!" shouted Harry, pressing the tip of his wand into Lenny's temple.

Lenny ignored him. Instead, he yanked on his shirt collar to reveal a labyrinth tattoo on his chest, just over his heart.

Hermione bit back a gasp of surprise.

"Just, as it seems, do you and I, Miss Granger."

*~*

Lenny refused to visit Hogwarts to receive medical attention, saying something about a pretty girl he knew who could patch him up in two jiffs. He also mentioned he'd been trying to get her to agree to go on a date with him for ages. He had high hopes for the evening ending well.

Hermione could not decide whether she liked him or not. She also couldn't get over the fact that in the past twenty-four hours she'd encountered two people sporting labyrinth tattoos: one a Muggle bookshop keeper and a wizard who owned a now-demolished pub in Wizarding Belfast. She found it hard to believe that it was a coincidence.

Much to Harry's chagrin and frustration, Hermione, too, refused medical treatment. She was certain all of her injuries would heal on their own and she had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near the hospital wing. She had spent far more time there than she would like already. She just wanted a chance to decompress before Draco returned.

Because he _would_ return.

Yes.

"I'll be fine, Harry, honestly."

Harry made his unhappy face. "I'll at least see you back to Grimmauld Place."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "You know, Harry, a year ago, this conversation would have been completely reversed."

Harry laughed awkwardly and raked his hand through his hair which, despite being soaking wet, still managed to stick up all over.

"Yeah, well, you've spent, like, half your life looking out for me. I can try to repay the favour."

Hermione didn't really know what to say. It sounded like an apology – a very Harry apology she'd been waiting to hear for months. But she was still angry.

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Then she realised she didn't want to.

"If you cared so much, then why did you leave me like you did?"

Harry swallowed thickly, a stricken, far-away look stealing over his expression. It took him a moment before he answered. "Because that night _haunts_ me," he whispered, not meeting her eyes.

Hermione's breath caught. Of course, she knew which night he was talking about; it still haunted her, too. Yet she said nothing. She wanted to hear Harry's explanation more than anything in her entire life.

Harry visibly gathered himself and met her gaze.

"You and Ron, you've always been there for me. Every great thing I've done never would have happened without your help. I know that.

"But that night – you were... I thought – fuck, Hermione, I almost _killed _you! And I decided right then that I'd rather you were far away and hating me than _dead._ And then tonight I heard you screaming and I'd left you by yourself, and when I Stunned him you weren't moving, and I thought maybe—"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, flinging her arms around his neck, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. "I don't hate you; I could never hate you. I'm just— it hurt so much, you know? I never thought you'd do something so mean—not to me anyway."

Harry hugged her back. "I am sorry, Hermione, for hurting you but I still think it was the right thing to do. Not the how," he amended hastily as Hermione drew away, scowling. "But I stand by the why. I'd rather lose your friendship than you lose your life."

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You stupid, noble prat. I thought we'd covered this way back in first year: we're a team. We're far stronger together than we could ever be apart. Besides, I'm hardly in less danger in London than I would be with you and Ron. This is war, Harry, no-one is safe, not really."

Harry frowned, his eyebrows knitting together over round spectacles and Hermione knew she'd won this round. She now had little doubt that Harry's heart had been in the right place – he'd never been able to lie to her – even if his method had been wholly tactless. Ron, on the other hand was another matter entirely. She and Ron had more personal issues to work out before he even manned up enough to apologise, let alone for her to forgive him.

Not that she had necessarily forgiven Harry, either, but she was getting there. He had not acted maliciously and Hermione had always had trouble staying angry with Harry. Now, however, Hermione had a confession to make that would more than likely reverse the tables completely. And Harry _could_ hold a grudge.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione said, "Harry, there's something I need to tell you. Draco knows about the Horcruxes." She whispered the last word, as they were still in public, even if the street was deserted.

There was a long moment where the only sound to be heard was the splattering of raindrops on the flagstones and Lenny's pub burning in the background. Hermione was holding her breath.

"What?" Harry shouted. "I can't believe you told Malfoy, of all people." Harry whispered Draco's name for the same reason but Hermione could tell it took a fair amount of effort to control his volume.

"I didn't _tell_ him," Hermione said defensively. "He just sort of figured it out. He's clever like that."

"Sneaky is more like it," Harry snapped. "Sweet Merlin, we are so fucked," Harry muttered, ruffling his already unruly hair. "This is just brilliant."

"Harry," Hermione said sharply. "I know that you will probably never be able to trust Draco but you know you can trust me. He would never betray this confidence; he knows what's at stake, and if anyone can keep a secret, it's him. Keeping his silence is so ingrained its part of his character. I only told you so that you didn't find out by accident and totally lose your temper, like you normally do."

Harry was glaring incredulously but did not seem to have a good response to Hermione's declaration.

"Draco has no reason whatsoever to tell anyone what he knows," she assured him. "I believe he really wants to be a part of the effort to destroy Voldemort. He isn't who he used to be, Harry, I promise you that."

_Please, believe me,_ she pled with her eyes.

"Ron's going to combust when I tell him."

Hermione cringed. She was glad that Harry would be having that discussion with Ron and not her. Ron had a terrible habit of saying the cruellest things at the worst time and, after the evening Hermione had just had, she just wasn't quite feeling up to fighting with him about it.

"Tell me what?"

_Bugger__. So much for getting out of that one._

"Ron," Hermione greeted coolly. She was finding it difficult to behave civilly towards him after their last row.

"Later, mate," Harry said in that warning tone that Ron never seemed to pick up on. "When did you get here?"

Ron looked torn between pursuing his previous question and participating in a neutral conversation. He shrugged. "Twenty minutes ago, I s'pose. Dad came by the shop and picked up George and me. You?"

"We came with Lupin and Moody pretty early on," Harry said.

Ron looked around. "Where's Malfoy?" he asked derisively.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm going back to Grimmauld Place," she said, completely ignoring Ron's bait.

"I'll go with you. It will be easier to get to Hogwarts from there anyway," Harry said.

Ron looked a little dumbfounded which, Hermione reflected, was not something wholly unusual.

"If you insist," she replied with a sigh.

The three of them Disapparated directly into the foyer at Grimmauld Place which was empty. There were, however, voices in the kitchen. Hoping one of them was Draco, but not holding her breath, Hermione led the way, leaving Harry to whisper furtively to Ron behind her. Hopefully, Harry was lecturing patience.

Draco was not in the kitchen but Mrs. Weasley, Neville and the Patil twins were. Parvati and Padma both had recently become members of the Order, having remained uninvolved in the war until their father had been gravely injured in a Death Eater attack. He had survived, but lost all use of his left side and needed to walk with a cane. Mr. Patil was still participating in the Wizarding version of physical therapy.

Hermione was greeted with gasps all around. She had completely forgotten that she must look absolutely frightful.

"Good gracious," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. She ceased her culinary preparations and rushed over to Hermione, throwing accusatory scowls at Harry and Ron. "What happened?"

Hermione groaned inwardly. She knew Mrs. Weasley meant well but she did not really feel like being fussed over for the next twenty minutes while trying to convince the woman she was fine.

"It wasn't our fault," Ron said, his cheeks turning red.

Mrs. Weasley looked doubtful.

"It really wasn't their fault. Ron only just joined us, in fact. But I assure you, I am perfectly all right." Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth but Hermione continued before she could protest. "And no amount of pleading or ordering me about will convince me to go to the Infirmary." She said this as gently as possible but knew she still sounded a bit waspish. It had been a long day.

"Will you find Professor Lupin or Mad-Eye and let them know that I'm still alive and that _we_ will be there bright and early tomorrow, Harry?" Hermione said.

"Yeah, not a problem. See you guys around."

Harry and Ron both Flooed to Hogwarts before Parvati and Padma could ask them a hundred questions. The twins were Order members now but they still tended to act like silly school-girls now and again.

Hermione, too, was prepared to make a swift exit when Neville, who looked to have been commandeered to help Mrs. Weasley cook dinner, spoke up.

"Professor Sprout sent over some more supplies for you, Hermione. I put them on your worktable in the lab. She said if there was anything else you needed to just pop over or send an owl."

"Thanks, Neville. I'll check it out in the morning. Goodnight, guys."

"I'm making supper for anyone who's hungry," Mrs. Weasley called. "And I do wish you'd go see Madam Pomfrey."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but I'm fine."

Hermione knew she would not be joining the others in their meal. The last thing she felt like was socialising. What she _did_ feel like were some dry clothes and a stiff drink. And, she admitted, Draco. Today was the first day in ages that she hadn't spent at least half of it with him, and she realised just how much she had become accustomed to his company, his conversation - if one could call their interchanges conversation – just having someone there in the house with her.

After changing out of her soaking wet jeans and shirt and donning her favourite pair of flannel pyjama pants, a matching jumper and heavy woollen socks, Hermione snuck upstairs to the study where she might obtain a drink of the alcoholic persuasion without being noticed. She also checked the library and the bedroom for any sign of Draco but found none, and resignedly accepted that he had not yet returned, 'yet' being the operative word.

Once in the study, Hermione made straight for the bar, where she poured herself two fingers of gin in a tumbler over ice and conjured a slice of lime for it. She turned and leant against the wooden bar top. She was indescribably exhausted, and quite ready to put this day behind her.

Gingerly holding the cool glass against her wounded cheek, Hermione closed her eyes, willing her headache to abate but knowing it would not. Now that she was alone, she could admit that perhaps she was not as well off as she had insisted but it wasn't anything to be cured by a visit to Madam Pomfrey. There were no medical treatments for the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse and, since her bones were no longer broken, all there was to be done now was perhaps to take a bit of Pain-relieving Potion, which she had in the lavatory. There would be plenty of people flocking to the Infirmary that genuinely needed the help. Hermione would not bother them with her trivial and superficial wounds.

But Merlin, was she sore.

"You look dreadful."

Hermione jumped, sloshing gin. Draco had an annoying habit of moving about the house like a wraith, making almost no noise whatsoever. Hermione trod lightly, but he made her sound like a herd of hippogriffs.

"Bloody hell, Draco," Hermione said, brushing the clear liquid from her clothes before it could soak in too much.

"Constant vigilance," Draco said, using Mad-Eye's mantra, a trace of his trademark smirk sliding across his lips.

Hermione smiled briefly before realising that, although she had been waiting all day to talk to Draco, she didn't really have anything to say. Or, more accurately, she had too much to say but not the words. As a result, what came out was less than spectacular.

"You came back."

She hated how she sounded like she'd thought he wouldn't, even though she'd been trying to convince herself otherwise all day.

She especially hated how he looked at her like he nearly hadn't.

"I have," Draco replied evenly.

Hermione tried not to squirm under Draco's observant gaze. He was studying her, watching her for Merlin only knew what. It felt as though he was testing her, but she didn't know the answers to questions he didn't know how to ask.

"So do you. Look dreadful, I mean."

_AWKWARD._

He really did. Draco was haggard and unnaturally pale – even for him. He was going for casual, leaning one shoulder against the door jamb, but it looked more like it was supporting him than anything.

"Where've you been?" she all but whispered.

Draco shrugged haphazardly.

"I don't know, really. I wasn't paying much attention."

Hermione hummed her acknowledgement, not knowing what else to say. She felt so...unprepared. She had no way of knowing how Draco was now handling his lycanthropy, nor could she think of a tactful way to approach the subject. Everything felt off-kilter now, and that wasn't how it was supposed to be.

They balanced each other, she and Draco. She was warm and open; he was cool and reserved, high-strung and relaxed, altruistic and pragmatic, light and dark.

Balance.

Too bad she felt like she was on a fucking carnival ride.

Hermione held her breath as Draco slowly approached. He stopped directly in front of her and wordlessly took her drink from her hand and set it on the bar. Tenderly, he reached up and brushed her hair back from her abused cheek and tucked it behind her ear. His only reaction was a nearly inaudible intake of breath.

A flicker of concern flashed across his face as he lightly trailed a finger along the arc of her neck.

Hermione's chest ached with lack of oxygen; Draco's proximity warmed her skin like an open blaze. He was intoxicating.

Finally he dragged his eyes up to meet hers. He swallowed.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice tight.

Hermione finally drew breath, fighting not to squirm under his penetrating gaze.

"There was an attack in Belfast. I went," Hermione replied, shrugging carelessly.

"And?"

Looking away she said, "And I managed to pick a fight with the only Death Eater not above throwing a punch."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "And?" he repeated, seeming to know that she hadn't quite given him the whole truth.

"And I may have run into Greyback," she said hastily, unsure how Draco would handle it. Especially since by 'run into' she meant 'hunted down and provoked'. Not that Greyback even needed much provocation.

Stiffly and with a small amount of barely controlled rage, as it were.

"What did he do to you?" Draco all but growled.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about the terror she'd felt as her vision had dimmed and slid out of focus, and raised her hand to her neck, covering the hand-shaped bruise that she had only glimpsed in the wardrobe mirror. To be honest, the sight had appalled her, and she had hurried from the room as soon as she was respectable.

Draco sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she said, a touch defensively.

Draco pulled her hand away from the bruise. "Hermione, he could have killed you."

"Yes, well, I haven't bought the farm just yet, now, have I?"

"That hardly the point-"

Hermione huffed, preparing to defend herself. "Draco-"

The rest of her sentence was lost in the hard planes of his chest as he crushed her to it, holding her tightly. Deeply, she breathed in his scent and allowed herself to melt into him, to just let him hold her. She wrapped her arms around him and it was wonderful.

"I don't want to argue with you," he whispered into her hair.

"I don't either," she replied. It had been a rotten enough day as it was; the last thing she needed was a row with Draco over something about which neither of them could do anything.

"He was looking for you," Hermione mumbled against his chest some minutes later.

"In Belfast?" Draco said, surprised. "I've never been there in my life."

"Well, more specifically he was looking for a man named Lenny who he thought might know where you are," Hermione replied, pulling back a bit.

"I don't know anyone named Lenny," Draco said, perplexed.

"I didn't expect you would. But he knew Snape and he knows Absalom. He had the mark, Draco, the labyrinth, and so does Sinead. I saw it last night when I went to see her."

Draco's brow furrowed in concentration. "But Sinead's a Muggle."

"That's why I was so shocked."

"Did you ask her about it?"

"Only when she got it. I didn't want to risk enlightening her to the Wizarding world unnecessarily. But meeting two other people with labyrinth tattoos in less than twenty-four hours cannot be a coincidence."

Draco hummed his agreement. "Somehow I get the feeling that whoever it is we've recently affiliated ourselves with are slightly more extensive and involved than we originally assumed."

"Indeed. And if they are, it begs the question: why did they allow us to be marked with so little cause or effort? I mean, there must be some sort of criteria that need to be met."

Draco scrubbed his face with one hand, still holding the other tightly to the small of her back. He did not seem to be in a hurry to let her go. Not that she was complaining.

"Just when you think your life can't get any more complicated."

"I'll go to the library and talk to Tonks. Maybe the two of us together can un-complicate things. I would like some more knowledge in my arsenal before we see Absalom again."

Draco snorted. "In retrospect, it seems a bit foolish, doesn't it?"

"Welcome to the life of your average Gryffindor."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh out-right at the horrified expression on Draco's face. An expression which her mirth quickly transformed into a scowl.

"Oh, come now, it's not all that bad."

"That's easy for you to say."

Hermione laughed again.

* * *

Remus checked his watch as he Flooed into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and nearly groaned aloud at how late it was – past midnight. There had been so much to deal with, even after the attack was officially over, including scouring the city for any dead or wounded, briefing Kingsley after he arrived so he could hush up the Order's presence as much as possible and, finally, returning to Hogwarts to report to Minerva and aid Poppy in the Infirmary.

It was safe to say that Remus was dead on his feet and had become totally of the opinion that he was far too old for this shit, no matter what Dora said.

However, after speaking with Harry, Remus felt he needed to insure Hermione's well-being for himself. The girl was a notorious insomniac, giving him little doubt that she would be up, more than likely researching. Also, he hoped to learn that Draco had returned safe and sound.

Remus was a little surprised to find himself in a completely silent house.

A quick search of the first and second floors revealed no sign of either Draco or Hermione, other than a pile of wet clothes in the room adjacent the library. But Remus could discern their individual scents, each only a few hours old, though Hermione's was fresher.

Following his nose to the third floor, Remus found himself standing outside the study. The door was slightly ajar, allowing dim candlelight to seep into the hallway. He heard nothing but the soft inhale- and exhalations of the room's occupants.

Cautiously peering inside, Remus expected to find them asleep, but was still a little shocked to find Draco and Hermione crammed together on the small sofa, Hermione sprawled mostly on top of Draco, he with his arms holding her tightly to him. An open book lay discarded on the floor near Hermione's dangling hand.

It was one thing to hear Dora try to describe the strange relationship Draco and Hermione had with each other. It was another thing entirely to see them at such an unguarded moment. He felt like an interloper.

Remus lingered just long enough to enlarge the sofa so they did not roll off, blow out the candles and rekindle the fire. His questions could wait until morning.

* * *

Hayley sat perched on the kitchen countertop, idly twirling her wand between her fingers and staring at Lenny's sleeping form on the couch. He'd shown up hours ago, bloody and barely coherent from his wounds and loss of blood. Once he had been patched up to the best of her abilities, she had forced a dose of Sleeping Draught down his throat and left him to sleep off the worst of the healing process.

But really, she wasn't thinking about Lenny. She was thinking about Absalom. More specifically, she was debating the wisdom of summoning him to discuss what Lenny had told her in person and inviting another row, or to just send him an owl. The only problem was that she didn't know where he was, and hadn't seen her owl for three days.

It had been months since Hayley had had any sort of communication with Absalom, and, while she knew he would come if summoned, she seriously doubted that she was prepared to deal with his cold demeanour after the night she'd had. Lenny was hardly her best friend, but he was a nice enough guy and seeing her comrades beaten and bloody always left her shaken in the aftermath.

There was a time when Absalom had been there to comfort her, in his own way. Now he could hardly bear to be in the same room with her for more than ten minutes, which stung more than she'd ever let him know.

But if there was one thing of which Hayley had aplenty, it was patience. She would just have to wait, and to hope, that he would see, remember, acknowledge. And then get bloody well over himself.

Sighing, Hayley focussed clearly on Absalom's face as she touched the tip of her wand to the centre of the labyrinth tattoo on the inside of her left forearm, near the elbow. She spoke his name aloud. Instantly, a crackle of deep blue electricity traced the design before disappearing.

Less than three minutes later, Hayley heard him climbing the rickety, aluminium stairs to her loft. It was small and poorly furnished, but it was home. She opened the door for him before he could knock. Absalom stepped inside, allowing her to shut the door behind him. He looked slightly less than pleased to be in her flat, which was not unexpected.

"Thanks for coming."

Shrewd eyes darted around the room; finally landing on Lenny's sleeping form.

"What happened?" Absalom asked curtly.

Hayley had been prepared for this sort of greeting, but it still cut.

"Fenrir Greyback and Freddy Benjamin beat him up and torched the pub."

Absalom, laconic as ever, merely raised an eyebrow. Hayley continued.

"I know; they've never attacked us outright before. Hell, until tonight, I wasn't even certain that Greyback knew we existed."

"Did he say what they were after?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Anyone else would have missed it: the way his jaw tightened slightly and his eyes darted to Hayley's face for just an instant. Hayley knew he had the answers to all the questions she wanted to ask. Like how did Greyback link Malfoy to the Keepers, and why? Why did he go to Lenny of all people? Why was he looking for Malfoy?

By the set of his shoulders, however, Absalom was unlikely to relinquish the information without a fight.

"How is he?"

Hayley sighed. "He has a concussion. It would have been pretty bad, but I managed to reduce most of the swelling. He had four broken ribs, which miraculously failed to puncture his lungs. There was also some minor spell damage to his right shoulder, and a sizeable laceration across his back. He lost a lot of blood but I gave him a Blood Replenishing potion that should put him at full capacity by morning." She shrugged. "Give him thirty-six hours and he'll be back to his usual charming self."

Absalom nodded minutely. "Good work. Is that all?"

Incredulous, Hayley stared at him until he looked at her. "I'm beginning to wonder if it might _actually _kill you to show a little compassion. I know Lenny isn't your favourite, but he's one of us and he almost died today. You could at least pretend to care."

Blue eyes flashed. She finally had his attention. "Are you finished?"

"You're unbelievable."

"It's a simple question."

Hayley ground her teeth in an effort to not throw the nearest heavy object at his head. He knew how to get under her skin, to be sure.

"He said that Hermione Granger and Harry Potter showed up and rescued him, and that Granger has our mark," Hayley snapped. "What the hell were you thinking? Someone as high-profile as she is will draw a dangerous amount of attention to us."

"Granger's practically a recluse, nowadays," Absalom said dismissively.

"That is so not the point."

"I had my reasons. That's all you need to know. You always did have trouble minding your own business."

"_Minding my own business_? First, Greyback murders Snape. Then yesterday I get a letter by Muggle post from Nikola saying that Jove was murdered by _Death Eaters_. And now this –" she said, gesturing towards Lenny. "One of our men is nearly beaten to death by the Lord Voldemort's personal werewolf in his search for the son of a Death Eater who, from what Lenny said, seemed to be under the impression that Granger knows where Malfoy is. Forgive me, but it seems as though all this just might be my _business. _I could be next – any of us could!"

When Hayley finished, she was breathing hard. She hadn't meant to get so worked up but Jove had been one of her best friends. The two of them, along with Nikola and Yuri, who was now stationed in Bulgaria, had all trained together. Jove was like a little sister. Hayley, as well as the others, had known from the beginning how dangerous their chosen path would be but she hadn't expected it to catch up with them so soon.

"The only things all of these events have in common are Death Eaters and Keepers – except Granger. So why did you mark her?"

If the look on Absalom's face was anything by which to judge, one might have thought it caused him physical pain to reveal his secret.

"I marked her because her Animagus form is a snow leopard."

"What does that have to do – oh. _Oh._ Is it really?" Wide-eyed, Hayley sank onto the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be an ottoman. "Does Sextus know?"

"I told him, yes," he replied, bitterness touching his voice.

"He does not share your confidence?"

A sharp look was verification enough.

On the couch, Lenny stirred. Hayley stood and gestured for Absalom to follow her into the kitchen. The room was only separated from the living room by a bar and some cupboards but at least they wouldn't be arguing right in front of him and risk waking him up, potion or not. Miraculously, he obliged. Absalom leaned against the sink, while Hayley chose the corner closest to him so she could face him.

"Tell me everything."

Absalom threw her a look. "Not everything is your concern," he said tiredly.

"You made it my concern a long time ago," she said, cautiously covering his hand with hers. "Everyone needs a confidante, Absalom, and you know you can trust me. Whatever problems we may have had, trust was never one of them."

"Don't do this," he said, without venom. "And you know why."

Hayley moved closer. She knew she was pushing her luck, and more than likely his patience, but it had been over a year since they'd seen each other for more than two minutes, and she'd be damned if she was going to let the opportunity pass her by. Tenderly, she cupped his cheek.

"Let me be there for you."

Absalom released a heavy breath and closed his eyes. Hayley's heart soared as he ever-so-slightly turned his face into her palm. Knowing she would never again have another chance like this, she brushed her lips across his. Absalom shivered and drew her tight, his fingers finding and squeezing her hip like a vice.

Closing her eyes, Hayley gave over control and allowed Absalom to plunder her mouth. It felt like he had never left. It felt like home. It was dizzying.

Suddenly he was gone and halfway to the door in a swirl of black leather before her dazed senses registered that he was leaving. Hayley rushed into the living room, panic and frustration rising in her chest. His hand was on the doorknob.

"When are you going to stop running from me?" she demanded.

Absalom froze, but would not face her. "Let me know if his condition worsens."

The door slamming shut behind him echoed in Hayley's head like so many drumbeats. Her hands were shaking. She hung her head in her hands, her waist-length toffee-coloured hair obscuring her face like a silk curtain. She wanted to throw something.

"Well," Lenny's slightly groggy yet somehow cheerful voice quipped behind her. "How long's that been going on?"

Hayley squeaked in an undignified manner and wheeled around. Lenny was lucky she hadn't had her wand drawn.

"Bloody buggering fuck, don't _do_ that, you little cretin."

Dramatically, Lenny brought his fist to his chest and pulled a face. "You wound, milady."

"Sod off. How much did you hear? Why are you even awake? I gave you a Sleeping Draught."

"I diluted it while your back was turned, and pretty much all of it. If I'd known that's what I was up against I mightn't have tried so hard."

"In that case, I wish I'd told you ages ago."

"Ouch. So, how long?"

Hayley groaned and went into the kitchen to get a beer. Lenny's chatter was like a nail being driven between her eyes. The persistent berk prised himself off the sofa and hobbled after her.

"It's over. What does it matter?" she admitted grudgingly.

"I gathered. So, what were you guys? Mates?"

Hayley rolled her eyes. "Get back on the couch, you tit."

Lenny threw her a teasing look. "With the names tonight. Friends with benefits?"

"Really, Lenny, how crass."

"Did you love him? _Do_ you love him?"

"I swear to Merlin, Leonard, don't make me hex you."

"Did he love you?"

With a shriek of frustration, Hayley snatched her wand off the cupboard where she'd left it and brandished it at Lenny's face. He put his hands up in surrender, but he still wore that insufferable smile.

"All right. No need for violence."

"Couch. Now."

Lenny painstakingly limped back to her dilapidated sofa where he made a great show of groaning and wincing as he tugged the blanket up to his chin.

Hayley rolled her eyes again. Lenny yawned hugely.

"What's life without a little dysfunction, anyway?"

* * *

Mirku had been following Reneé LaFrenier for hours and, thus far, the only conclusion he had drawn was that he was damned confused. He had set out intent on catching a Death Eater and a murderess who was recruiting vampires for Lord Voldemort, but had done little more than watch her search graveyards, mausoleums, an abandoned building and even a few caves. The tense lay of her shoulders told him that, while she had not yet found what she was looking for, she literally expected it to jump out and bite her at any moment.

Also, the more he watched her, the less certain he became that she was at all affiliated with Death Eaters. True, she was poised and appeared to be of wealthy upbringing, but she did not have that dark swagger that came with the use of forbidden magic. Too, there was the fact that Death Eaters almost always travelled in packs – not very brave, their lot.

But, most importantly, she did not look like the sort to take someone's life without compunction. It was in the delicate way she held her wand before her, as though it might snap if grasped too firmly, and the look of grim preparation that hardened her features as she began each new search, like she knew she would not like what she would find once it was found.

He also seriously doubted she could have taken Jove single-handedly. Jove had been a fierce warrior and skilled in many sorts of weaponry. It most definitely would have taken more than one to bring her down.

So, what the hell was she doing? It didn't make any sense.

Mirku also found himself absurdly attracted to her. Instinctively, he knew he was playing with fire. He wondered how much of him didn't care.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**26 September**

This was the second morning in a row which Draco had awoken to find Hermione's body sprawled all over his. It was a little unsettling, but not so bad he felt the need to put half the city between them.

On the contrary, he wished he could pull her closer, melt into her, disappear in her calm, because he still felt a storm of emotions roiling about just beneath the surface. They had reached an unspoken accord the previous evening, some agreement that some things really _didn't_ need to be discussed. However, there were still many issues to be dealt with on both of their parts, and he wasn't really looking forward to it. Like the fact that he was a _werewolf_. He fought back a shudder.

On some level, it still hadn't totally sunk in. He kept forgetting, but then something would remind him, and all he could think was that he was sure to fly apart if something didn't give.

That's what he felt like. Like some force was ripping him to pieces. And, while he might never admit it aloud, he wanted Hermione to be there, by his side. He wanted her to make good on her promise to not leave. He wondered when his brain had given Hermione so much control over his happiness. And without his consent, too. Bastard. He needed Hermione to be his glue.

Draco's hand rose to brush a few errant curls away from her face. She crinkled her nose as though tickled, drawing a small smile out of him.

Then, with a lurch of his stomach, Draco found both of them on the floor, all tangled up, next to a much smaller sofa. Apparently, someone's Engorgement Charm had at last worn off, leaving a heap of limbs on the floor. Vaguely, Draco wondered who had cast the charm.

At least Draco didn't have to worry about waking her. She was already awake and grumbling.

"Are you all right?" he asked around a face-full of her hair.

"Er, a bit sore, actually, and my arm's pinned beneath you."

Draco propped himself up on his elbow, knotted legs were undone, and at last Hermione was free. Draco found himself missing her warmth already.

"You?'

"Hm?"

His eyes drifted to her mouth, and Hermione had apparently noticed because she was now chewing on the bottom lip nervously. He shifted his gaze to her cheek and then down to her neck. The swelling so prominent the night before was now totally absent, but she still had an ugly bruise beneath her left eye. She was a remarkably fast healer and Draco suspected it had something to do with all that magic floating around inside of her.

Almost lovingly, he brushed his fingertips across the yellow and purple smudges marring her cheek, careful not to cause her pain. He felt a twinge of anger. Not only had she been injured, but he should've been there for her.

Hermione's breath caught.

"You broke my fall," he whispered, dipping his face closer to hers, ever-so-slightly.

Hermione let out a brief, strained little laugh.

He touched the pad of his thumb to her bottom lip. She stopped.

"May I?"

"Yes," she replied breathlessly, without hesitation.

Eagerly, Draco pressed his lips to hers, letting all of his fears and insecurities melt away in the euphoria that was kissing Hermione. She responded impatiently, like he'd waited too long to ask and to do.

Then Draco's mind went abruptly blank when Hermione slipped her tongue into his mouth. He lost track of everything else in a blur of tingling nerve endings and pounding pulses. Her hands, carding sensuously through his hair, sent gooseflesh cascading down his back and arms. His fingers found purchase enough on her hip to drag her back beneath him, strong digits gripping firmly, desperately, and sure to leave a bruise. Hermione moaned, sending delicious vibrations down his spine.

Draco could hear Hermione's heart pounding in her breast, smell her desire, sense her delirium. They matched his own, and he knew he was lost. So very, very lost.

Kissing Hermione was like learning to breathe underwater. One minute you're drowning, the next you're free and alive and you can't imagine _not _kissing her.

Then a high pitched beeping began to slowly pierce the fog of his fever. Suddenly, Hermione broke the kiss, heaved him off of her and practically fled downstairs, an uncharacteristic stream of profanities floating up to his ears, barely discernable over Mrs Black's caterwauling.

"Good morning to you, too" Draco muttered, staring at the ceiling.

X

When Hermione reached the lab, her heart was slamming against her ribcage, and it wasn't because she'd just sprinted down three flights of stairs. Kissing Draco may have still been a novel experience, but there was something very different about this time, something powerful. She could still feel it, from head to toe, a warm buzz that started somewhere in her stomach and radiated outward until it consumed her.

However, to be perfectly frank, after the little trick her Patronus played on her in Belfast, Hermione was feeling a little skittish concerning her feelings for Draco. She remembered how Tonks' Patronus had changed to emulate Remus during sixth year. The thought was of little comfort.

Did she trust Draco? Yes. Did she consider him a friend? Yes. Did she find him physically attractive? Absolutely. But did she love him? Hermione had thought herself in love with Ron and look how that turned out. She wasn't sure she trusted herself to recognise what love felt like. And even if, _if_, she did love Draco, why did the Patronus cycle between her regular otter and the snow leopard as well? Was it something to do with her heart or her magic? Her head hurt just thinking about it.

On top of all that, Hermione had just literally fled the scene of some very intense snogging. And Draco. It was the Alarm Charm she'd set on the Wolfsbane potion that had brought her back to her senses, but she'd be a liar if she said she wasn't running from him too, which made her the worst sort of hypocrite. She could've smacked herself in the face. How many times had she told him she wasn't going anywhere? She couldn't remember.

But Hermione was nothing if not determined, and she swore she'd make it up to him.

However, there was nothing for it at the moment; Draco was best approached after he'd had some time to cool off, and trying to talk to him now would most likely end in a shouting match. No, she would buckle down, get the next stage of this potion completed and attempt to seal the rift later, when Draco was calm and she had assembled her thoughts into some vague semblance of order.

She lifted the silver knife off the work table and prepared to chop the next ingredient. The blade shook in her hand. Easier said than done, apparently.

X

Despite its unlikelihood, Hermione had in fact lost herself in her potion, and was shocked to realise that more than two hours had passed since her mad flight downstairs. And she probably wouldn't have even noticed at all had Tonks' familiar arrival by Floo not distracted her. Moody's _clomp, clomp, clomp_ followed shortly. Curious, Hermione put the potion under a Stasis Charm and went to see what her instructors wanted. She entered the hallway outside of the kitchen in time to see Moody bellow their names in summons.

"Granger! Malfoy!"

"Good God, man, I'm right here," Draco snapped, emerging from the library one floor above, and leaning over the banister.

Hermione couldn't help but smile. She thought Draco and Moody would always butt heads. On principle.

"Wotcher, Hermione," Tonks greeted, spotting her. "You all right? Remus said you got knocked around a bit last night."

"I'm still kicking," Hermione replied, not really wanting to talk about it. She continued down the corridor to stand next to Tonks.

Draco scowled, but quickly descended the stairs to join them. He spared Hermione only a fleeting glance before addressing Moody, a mite tetchily, if Hermione was allowed her opinion.

"Why are you here? We're not due at Hogwarts for half an hour."

Tonks raised an amused eyebrow at Hermione and whispered, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Hermione blushed, remembering exactly how they had woken up, and the events that ensued. "He's not really a morning person," she offered lamely, knowing full well the reason for Draco's foul temper.

Moody grunted at Draco's insolence, no doubt planning to seek his punishment later that day. Moody was like that, especially with Draco.

"That's why we're here, boy. We won't be returning to Hogwarts."

"What? Why not?" Hermione demanded. "If you're discontinuing our training becau-"

Moody banged his walking stick on the floor. "Oh, shut it, Granger."

Tonks laughed. "Relax, Hermione. No one's discontinuing anything. We've just decided that, in light of certain events, it'd be best we move our sessions to a more private location. Besides, Hogwarts was always more convenient than anything. Given whom the two of you are, some publicity nightmare is bound to happen. Best to just nip it in the bud, don't you think?"

Hermione couldn't deny her friend's logic, and now felt a bit silly for automatically assuming the worst.

"But where will we go?" Draco asked. "There can't be many places capable of both accommodating our needs and keeping us hidden."

"You're right, but-" Moody began, only to be interrupted by Tonks.

"But, I talked to my mum this morning, and she said that she had a great-great-great-great something uncle on her father's side who was filthy rich, even for a Black, and that he had a mistress. She was a pureblood, but at the time divorce wasn't socially acceptable, so he built her a mansion so large Mum said it may even be larger than the Manor."

Draco raised an incredulous brow, doubting very much that any single residential building was larger than Malfoy Manor. Hermione, too, had a hard time envisioning it. She had seen many photographs of the Manor published in the _Prophet_ after the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries and Lucius' subsequent arrest. It was massive.

"Be that as it may," Draco said sceptically, 'it's still a magical property and therefore registered with the Ministry, making it no more secure than any other magical building."

"Ah, here's the best part: It's somewhere in the Orkney Islands, in the North Sea."

"And?" Draco said, sounding a little impatient. "The Orkneys are still under the Ministry's purview. They have to be, as close to Azkaban as they are."

Tonks was grinning like the cat that caught the canary. "Oh, little cousin, you really ought to have paid more attention to your History of Magic lessons."

It clicked.

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's brilliant!"

Draco looked unmoved.

Hermione cleared her throat, not to be deterred. "Hundreds of years ago, the Orkneys had a fairly large Wizard population, but they were mostly Muggle-borns. The Ministry, while not openly hostile toward them, wasn't exactly accommodating, so they gathered on the Orkneys and pretty much kept to themselves."

"They lived in relative peace there until the mid-fifteen hundreds," Tonks picked up, "when the Ministry finally realised how many Muggle-borns there were and became paranoid that there would be an uprising. Unsurprisingly, it was the new laws and tariffs imposed on the residents that brought on the rebellion."

Too excited not to speak, Hermione took over again. "In May of 1557, the people of Orkney fought for and won their independence from England. For the next forty-three years, no land purchased or buildings constructed on the islands were recorded by the Ministry of Magic."

"And in what year was this mansion completed?" Draco asked, managing to sound both bored and hopeful simultaneously.

"It was completed in August of 1598, two years before the Ministry finally won back the islands."

"Do you know where it's located?" Hermione asked.

"No, but Andromeda suspects it's on one of the smaller islands," Moody said. "Dress warm. It may take all day, and I don't want to hear you whinging about the cold."

X

The only Apparition point in the islands was in a dilapidated cottage on the outskirts of Kirkwall, in the northern section of East Mainland. It was markedly cooler than London, even inside the building which provided them with some protection from the elements. Outside, the wind was howling, causing the window panes to rattle and the door to bang against its frame.

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets, grateful that Hermione had found a jacket for him to wear. She'd said it was Sirius Black's, and despite the fact it smelled of petrol and Muggle cigarettes, it fit him rather well and was quite warm. If only she'd managed to locate some gloves too. He was pants at conjuring, so that was out. Potions and Arithmancy had always been his favoured subjects. Hermione could probably whip him up a pair in two seconds but he'd be buggered if he asked her for anything else today. He still had some pride, frozen hands or not.

It also brought him no small amount of pleasure knowing that Potter's head would explode if he witnessed Draco wearing his beloved godfather's jacket.

Draco felt Moody's mad eye sweep the room before clomping towards the exit. He stuck his head out the door. Draco hoped the wind blew that ridiculous green bowler right off his head and into the ether. It was atrocious. And conspicuous.

"Clear?" Tonks asked. She would blend in much better, even with the magenta hair. She'd swapped out her robes and cloak for denims and a full length trench coat. She'd already tripped over the hem twice. Draco continued to wait for her to remember she was a witch and shorten it.

Moody grunted. "Let's get a move on. Sun sets early this far north."

Without argument, everyone filed out, Draco bringing up the rear. Once out of doors, the wind was as brutal as it sounded; it cut straight to the bone. Only Moody seemed immune. Tonks stumbled over her coat again, but Hermione caught her arm, sparing her the fall.

"Bloody hell," Draco swore over the wind. It was tinged with salt and left an acrid taste in his mouth. "You can't possibly expect us to spend all day trekking across the island in this."

"You're a wizard, aren't you, boy?" Moody whispered harshly. "Cast a Warming Charm."

"You think a Warming Charm will help in this wind, _old man?_" Draco snapped back. "It's suicide. We'll all freeze to death."

"Do you have a better idea?" Moody demanded, looking both smug and annoyed.

Draco pressed his lips firmly together, steadfastly refusing to admit aloud that he did not in fact have a better plan. He glared instead. It felt childish, but he just plain felt like fighting and rather wished they were spending their day sparring instead of wandering around some god-forsaken speck of land in the middle of nowhere. On top of that, the incessant feel of Hermione's eyes on him was grating his nerves.

"I think I may have an idea," Hermione spoke up from his right.

Draco looked at her, struggling to keep his face blank. The wind had brought a rosy glow to her cheeks, throwing his imagination back to the heated blush that had stained her skin right before he'd kissed her that morning. He stamped the vision out. Apparently working with someone and snogging someone didn't quite fall into the same category of I Promise it Won't Change Anything.

He supposed he should've expected it, really. Maybe that was why the rejection stung so: because he hadn't seen it coming. How silly of him to have taken her at her word.

"Let's have it, Granger," Moody said impatiently.

Hermione pointed to a large white building at the end of the block. The sign swinging in front read: Orkney Public Library and Historic Society.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Really, Granger, a library?"

A wounded look flooded Hermione's face, but she quickly blinked it back and faced Moody. "Despite _Malfoy's_ derision, I have spent the last two years searching for magically concealed locations, and Muggle documentation had been, by far, the most useful. Muggles record _everything_, no matter how bizarre or seemingly trivial. One only has to know where to look."

Moody was unconvinced. Draco didn't much care, as long as he didn't have to stay out in the wind all day. Apparently, his new condition afforded him sharpened sight and hearing, but not the innate ability to remain warm like his other half. The thought made him sick.

Hermione noticed his expression change out of the corner of her eye, and for a moment injury faded to concern. For a moment he hated her.

"Please, Mad-Eye," Hermione pled. "Just give me some time to look into it, ask a few questions."

Moody opened his mouth to reply, but Tonks cut him off.

"I don't see how it can hurt. And I don't know anyone who's better than Hermione at researching. If there's something to find, she'll find it."

"I don't like it. Wasting time."

"Not if you and I get started on the ground," Tonks countered. "Let the kiddies hit the books."

"Yes," Hermione piped up, sensing opportunity. "We'll split up for now and meet back here for lunch. We can discuss anything we find and decide where to go from there."

Moody glanced at Draco, who shrugged. "So long as it does not involve any part of my person turning into an icicle, I'm game."

Moody considered for a moment before grunting and clomping away. "Fine!" he called over his shoulder.

"Watch yourselves, kiddies," Tonks said before hurrying off after Mad-Eye.

Hermione practically beamed. The thought of exploring a new library set her all a-flutter. It was amazing that something so simple made her so disproportionately happy. The only thing Draco could think was how painfully awkward the next three hours were going to be, stuck with Hermione in a library, alone.

"What' the matter?" Hermione asked. She was studying his face hard. "I thought you'd be pleased to get out of the wind."

Draco couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. He was afraid she'd see the horrible rejection he felt, and he was _positive _the only way he could handle it was if she didn't know. He stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.

"Let's just get to work. It's bloody cold out here, and the wind's giving me a headache."

Draco didn't wait for her to follow as he walked off toward the library, but a few moments later he heard her sigh, followed by the thud of her boots on pavement.

xXx

So talking to Draco was going to be much harder than she'd realised. Her actions had stung more than she had originally anticipated. Hermione decided that a Grand Gesture might be necessary. Unfortunately, more timely matters currently demanded her attention.

Hermione ducked into the library out of the wind right behind Draco and was immediately assailed by the scent of old paper and leather. It was exceedingly warm compared to outside, making her hands and face feel like they were on fire.

"Just follow my lead," she whispered to Draco. He didn't reply, but she knew he would anyway. Draco was never reluctant to protest.

The entrance was cosy. The walls were done in blue and white pinstripe wallpaper, and Mahogany crown moulding and floorboards surrounded the room. Directly ahead was the reference desk, behind which sat a middle-aged woman with greying blonde hair pulled back at the nape of her neck and cat's eyes glasses with purple frames. The woman distinctly reminded Hermione of Rita Skeeter. It wasn't a pleasant association, and she hoped she would find her more agreeable.

On the right side of the room was a small settee upholstered a darker blue and a low table. An older man sat there, reading a newspaper and gnawing on the end of an unlit pipe. He looked to be in his fifties and the hard lines of his face and abused denims suggested a life spent outdoors. He looked out of place and Hermione berated herself for being so cynical as to suspect the man, who was probably nothing more unique than a retired fisherman enjoying the peace while he read his paper.

Draco, however, seemed to have the same initial impression of the man. When Hermione halted in front of the large desk, Draco even went so far as to angle his body so he could keep the man in his view. Hermione tried to convince herself they were being silly and maybe a little paranoid, but she just couldn't quite kick the uneasy feeling in her gut.

Content, at least, that Draco had her back, Hermione put on her most winning smile and extended her hand to the librarian. Her nameplate read Angela White.

"Hello, Ms White, my name is Harriet Gordon, and this is my friend David Morris. We're studying History and Folklore at King's College, and we were wondering if you'd spare us some time so we could ask you a few questions."

Angela White's face brightened instantly. "Well, you've certainly come to the right place!" she said, shaking Hermione's hand. "My family's run this place for nearly eighty years."

Hermione couldn't believe their luck. If anyone could help them, it would be Ms White.

"Why don't we go sit in my office?" she suggested, rising. "Joe, you'll let me know if anyone comes, won't you?"

"Sure thing, Ange," Joe replied gruffly. He didn't look up from his paper.

"Thanks. Right this way."

Ms White led them through the doorway labelled 'Orkney Historical Society', past a line of sealed glass cases containing very old maps, and into a door in the corner of the room. Inside was another, smaller desk facing two armchairs. Ms White gestured for them to sit. Draco shut the door behind them, and discreetly angled his seat so he could see both out the window on Hermione's other side and the door. He was being awfully paranoid today.

Hermione pulled a Muggle notebook and pen out of her messenger bag.

"So, what did you want to know?" Ms White asked pleasantly.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, David and I are doing a research paper on the proliferation of local superstitions, particularly those surrounding historical landmarks and buildings, and how the legends endure the generations."

"Haunted houses?" Ms White said with mild incredulity.

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "In so many words: yes." Sensing the librarian's scepticism, Hermione hurried on earnestly. "It's quite fascinating, really. You wouldn't believe some of the bizarre data we've collected of the past few months. Full-body apparitions, disembodied voices and sounds; there was even a house in Wales that locals swear had been there for a century that just vanished."

The last at least wasn't entirely false. The house had been purchased by a Wizarding family and concealed. The few who recalled it had escaped the Ministry's Obliviators. Hermione should know. It was the Potter's home in Godric's Hollow.

Hermione had the woman's attention again.

"Is that so?" Ms White said, perking up. "That's incredible."

"Have you any places like that here in the Orkneys?" Draco asked, speaking up for the first time.

Hermione suspected he was becoming impatient, but his face was impassive. Ms White seemed surprised he spoke, and Draco flashed a dazzling smile. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She wished he'd smile like that more often. At her.

"You'll have to forgive my partner," he continued smoothly. "She gets excited and tends to digress."

Hermione forced herself not to scowl. She couldn't tell if Draco meant it or if he was just trying to charm some information out of the woman. Whichever, it was working.

"Oh, that's fine," she replied, flapping her hand dismissively. "It's not every day I get young folks like yourselves in here. Tell me what you're looking for, and I'll see if I can point you in the right direction."

Hermione smiled. "Fantastic."

xXx

Freddy Benjamin had a tick. When he was a child some of the kids in his neighbourhood, kids he grew up with, learned he was a werewolf and they beat him to within an inch of his life. The healers at St. Mungo's had treated him only because he was a child, but not before the swelling in his brain compressed his brain stem and caused permanent damage to the right side of his body. His arm and leg worked well enough, but both limbs were subject to sporadic jerks and twitches that were both comical and dangerous, depending on how close one was standing and under which circumstances.

For two years, Freddy had hidden himself away from the world. Then, one balmy full moon night before Freddy was supposed to go to Hogwarts, he broke free of his parents' basement, killing them both in the process and fled into the night. He'd followed his ears and his nose and the beating of his heart to Fenrir Greyback, and had never looked back.

He had found a home that night, and a leader, however vicious or unpredictable. Despite his physical short-comings, Freddy had proven himself a valuable asset over the years and unerringly loyal, and Greyback had rewarded him for it. He was probably the only other werewolf in the pack that Greyback might call his confidante.

However, in the fifteen years Freddy had spent at Greyback's side, he couldn't honestly recall a single instance when Greyback had been more utterly enraged. It was phenomenal. It was almost surreal.

Once Greyback had awoken and found himself partially wrapped in white gauze, he had done his usual rant and rave, throw things and break faces for about ten minutes. Then he had sat down at one of the communal tables and hadn't moved since. Except for the fact that his left eye was twitching, he was grinding his teeth, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists on the tabletop as though they were just itching to wrap themselves around some poor fool's neck.

Everyone in the den gave him wide berth, but Freddy would catch whispered snatches of conversation as his pack-mates speculated as to the source of their Alpha's displeasure. Even the Frenchies seemed inclined to give Greyback his space, and they usually treated him with little more than indifference, though the younger ones feared him. As well they should.

Except for that bloody Sauda woman, walking around like she bleeding owned the place. If it weren't for the explicit orders from the Dark Lord to allow her passage, there was little doubt in Freddy's mind that Greyback would've ripped her to shreds three times over.

_That's where everything started goin' downhill,_ Freddy thought. Just a few short years ago, everything had been normal, life had been as stable as it could be for someone like Freddy, but then all this stupid Dark Lord business started up. One crazy wizard with a grudge returns to the flesh and all of a sudden Fenrir Greyback, the most feared werewolf in the British Isles becomes more of a lapdog than an Alpha male. Then this bloody African woman shows up with absolutely no respect and moves right in. Because the Dark Lord _said so._

Frankly, it made Freddy sick to his stomach just thinking about it. Now he just needed to think of a way to get Greyback to understand him without literally getting his head bitten off.

xXx

Thirty minutes later, Angela had gathered quite a collection of works for them to study. There was a stack of periodicals and newspapers dating back about fifty years, as well as half a dozen books pertaining to historical landmarks scattered across the islands. There were also copies of the maps which lined the walls, some dating back to the early sixteen hundreds. Hermione looked like Christmas had come early.

Draco resisted the urge to groan aloud. There was no way they would be finished by lunchtime.

As soon as Angela had left them to it, Hermione discreetly checked to ensure they were truly alone before walking a perimeter around their little workspace. She was waving her wand as she moved, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Draco quirked an eyebrow, when she finally turned from her task. "Wards? Really?"

"One can never be too careful," Hermione said. "Besides, it's just a simple Encroachment Alarm and a Muffliato."

"Muffliato?"

Hermione blushed, like she'd accidentally said something better kept to herself. "If someone passes by, all they'll hear of our conversation is white noise."

"Clever."

"It's not mine. It was Snape's."

Draco abruptly looked away. That dark night kept popping up all over the place; it only reminded him of his current condition.

Hermione looked contrite, but offered no platitudes or apologies. It was strange. Usually Draco couldn't get her to stop talking, but the past two days had been filled with enough awkward silences to make even old McGonagall squirm. He felt like they were both treading on eggshells.

Hermione eased into the seat across the table from Draco. She cleared her throat. "Listen, Dra-"

"So, I'll begin with the newspapers, shall I?"

Hermione's mouth shut with an audible click, and Draco told himself that he didn't want to hear whatever it was she had to say.

xox

Harry felt an odd mixture of pride and relief at a job completed – if not well then certainly satisfactorily - and residual chagrin at the barrage of profanities Ron had unleashed at an impressive volume. He had spent half the night debating when and how he should tell Ron that Malfoy knew about the Horcruxes.

The conclusion was simple, really: as soon as possible and immediately preceding a meal. There wasn't anything in the world that distracted Ron better than a plate of food left unattended on the kitchen table, and this was no exception. And so, ten minutes before Harry expected Mrs. Weasley to summon them for lunch, Harry had pulled Ron aside, cast a sturdy Imperturbable Charm, and told Ron the bad news.

Half an hour later, Ron was picking at cold ham sandwiches and Harry was walking briskly down the gravel drive towards the edge of the wards that surrounded the Burrow, his Invisibility Cloak draped over an arm, and the Marauder's Map stowed in a back pocket. Once outside the wards, Harry turned on his heel and Disapparated to the Shrieking Shack. He followed the underground tunnel to its end at the Whomping Willow. Swiftly, he rechecked the Map, donned his Invisibility Cloak and emerged from beneath the tree, making sure to press the secret knot at the base of the trunk.

It was mid-day, so the grounds at Hogwarts were deserted and the main doors propped open, letting in the fresh air of what was certain to be one of the last pleasant days of the year, although it was quite windy. Winter was descending quickly.

Harry made his way to the Great Hall without incident. He snuck in behind a young Hufflepuff who was too busy juggling four oversized texts to much concern herself with the swish of fabric that followed her. The girl reminded him painfully of Hermione, which brought a torrent of contradictory feelings. Feelings he'd rather not dwell on at the moment.

A flash of copper from the Gryffindor table caught his eye, immediately banishing any inclination he might have had to sort those feelings out. For quite some time Ginny had had the ability to completely divert any coherent train of thought Harry might be attempting. He often wondered if she knew.

Ginny was sitting at the end of the table with her back to Harry, doing her best to eat a sandwich and read at the same time. Luna Lovegood sat directly across from her, humming tunelessly as she scribbled away across a roll of parchment. Suddenly, Luna looked directly at Harry, cocked her head to the side and smiled vaguely. Startled, Harry hastily checked to make sure the cloak was still covering all of him.

"I have to speak with Professor Vector about last night's Arithmancy assignment," Luna said to Ginny. "I'll see you in Potions."

"Yeah," Ginny mumbled. She waved a hand absent-mindedly in farewell. "Potions."

Luna quickly packed her things and came around the table. She stopped right next to Harry, much to his horror.

"Use small words today. She's a little distracted."

"Er, thanks, Luna," Harry whispered.

"Not at all, Harry."

Harry watched in wonder as Luna skipped off, blonde braid swinging behind her. Did she have x-ray vision? Shaking himself, Harry turned his attention back to Ginny. Now that the moment had come, he didn't know what to say, or even how to approach her. Ginny had a temper to match just about anyone else in her family, and while he was certain they'd argue about his behaviour, having it out in the middle of the Great Hall wasn't at the top of his To Do list.

Taking a deep breath, Harry decided he'd do this like he did everything else: dive in head first and then just go with it. He'd made it this far, right? Surely he'd survive the wrath of Ginny Weasley. Maybe. Hopefully.

Harry sat next to her on the bench. "Hey, Ginny," he whispered.

Startled, Ginny nearly knocked over a goblet of pumpkin juice. "Holy mother of- Harry? What the hell are you doing here?" She somehow managed a whisper, too, but a passing Ravenclaw gave her a bizarre look nonetheless. Ginny smiled sweetly at him until he passed.

"Yeah, it's me," Harry responded, once the other boy had gone. "Do you have class next period?"

"No."

"Can we talk?" Harry tried not to sound too hopeful.

Ginny looked back to her text, but Harry still saw her roll her eyes. "Oh, so now you want to talk. You're unbelievable."

"Ginny, please."

It sounded like a plea, even to Harry's own ears, but he was a little past caring. Not only had he missed her more than he thought was possible, but it was imperative that she hear what he had to say.

"Fine," Ginny said, dragging a hand through her hair. Harry caught an elusive whiff of flowers, and wished it was his hand, and not hers. She slammed her book shut, stuffed it in her bag and stood. "Follow me."

Ginny led him up two flights of stairs and down a narrow corridor hidden behind a tapestry. It ended in a long-deserted room that looked like it may have been a teacher's lounge at some point in history. As soon as the door shut, Harry removed the cloak

Ginny headed for the nearest sofa. It was tattered and the navy blue upholstery was moth-eaten, but it seemed sturdy enough. She spelled it free of dust with a wave of her wand and sat down. She had that familiar, stubborn set to her jaw that told Harry she was only planning to let him speak so she could yell at him when he finished.

_Better make this count,_ Harry thought, taking a deep breath. He tugged at his hair, and finally looked Ginny in the eye.

"Voldemort is going to attack Hogwarts."

Ginny's face drained, leaving her freckles in stark relief. "_What?_"

Suddenly weary, Harry plopped down in an arm chair opposite her.

"That's pretty much the same reaction I had."

Ginny stared. "Are you sure? How do you know?" she demanded in a rush. "Does the rest of the Order know? What are they doing about it?"

"Ginny," Harry interrupted. Her eyes snapped up to his. "I'm sure."

"Oh gods. When?"

"Professor Lupin said about six weeks. Probably on a full moon because Voldemort's been recruiting werewolves. And vampires. And giants. From all over the continent. That's why I've come. I don't know what the Order is doing or planning, or if the Ministry will help."

"But they have to!" cried Ginny, outraged. "It's _Hogwarts_!"

"I know, I know, but we've never really been able to rely on the Ministry before, and the Order is outnumbered and more disorganised than Lupin and McGonagall would have us believe. We can only count on ourselves."

Ginny visibly collected herself, squaring her shoulders. "What can I do?"

Harry almost smiled. He should've known he could count on Ginny. "Reform the DA. Fifth years and up, no Slytherins."

"What should I tell them?"

"Nothing," Harry decided impulsively. "Tell them it's an emergency, and swear them to secrecy. Let me know when and I'll come tell them all myself."

"All right. I'll get Luna to help me, and Neville's here most days, too. He might be able to lend a hand."

"Good," said Harry, relieved and excited at once.

Ginny stood, and Harry was struck by how beautiful she was. She had grown tall over the past two years and had managed to avoid the awkwardness that plagued Ron. She was all curves and grace, and had let her hair grow until it reached her lower back. Even in the dim light of the abandoned room, it shone, bringing fire to an otherwise dreary scene.

Harry found his mouth suddenly very dry and his hands itching to reach out and touch her. Ginny was either unaware of or unconcerned by Harry's state. He wondered if he had any effect on her at all.

"I'll send an owl to Grimmauld Place as soon as I know anything."

Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, Ron and I are staying at the Burrow."

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "Not avoiding Hermione, are we?"

"Sort of," Harry admitted with a scowl. The image of Malfoy's pointed face swam across his brain. Git.

"Well, there seems to be a fair bit of that going around these days."

Belongings now gathered, Ginny strode toward the door, apparently content to leave their conversation where it stood. In a heartbeat, Harry jumped up from his seat, nearly knocking it over, and snatched her hand. She spun to face him. Her skin was fire under his palm.

"That's not fair, Ginny. You know it isn't like that."

"Then what _is_ it like, Harry? Because even last year when you were still here at Hogwarts you avoided me like the plague."

"You know I have to—"

"Save the world. I know. I get that, I really do. But would it kill you to spend more than thirty seconds in the same room with me? I mean, Merlin, Harry—"

"It might." The words were out before he could stop them. He dragged his hands though his hair in frustration.

"What?" Ginny said quietly.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to be in a room with you? It's like my brain clicks off, and it's all I can do to put a complete sentence together when all I want is—" Harry cut himself off.

"This is what you wanted, Harry, remember?" Ginny said hotly, eyes flashing. "You walked away, and I let you because you're a stupid, stubborn git who wouldn't have listened to me anyway."

"That's because I thought it would be easy!" Harry fairly shouted. "I thought I could make myself forget you, but I couldn't." Harry paused, taking a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. Ginny just stared. "If I can't have you, then it's best if I just stay away."

Ginny threw her hands up in the air with a roar of frustration. "_You're_ the only one who's saying you can't! You have this ridiculous notion of long-suffering nobility—"

"I won't be with you, when being with you could get you killed, Ginny!"

"You think it matters? My entire family has targets painted on their backs, and it has little to do with our association with you. The whole of Wizarding England knows where we stand! You're really running out of arguments, Harry."

"How about: The people I love have a tendency to die terrible, violent deaths? Is that argument enough for you?"

"And now, thanks to you, I'm involved. You just asked me to lead the willing students of this school in its defence when it's attacked by Voldemort. The only supposed benefit of distancing yourself from me is now non-existent."

Something twisted sharply in Harry's gut. "I didn't make the decision lightly, and you deserved to know. So many things could've been prevented already if I hadn't been kept in the dark for so long. I won't make the same mistakes."

"Alienating yourself isn't the answer, either."

Harry was so not prepared for this conversation. He had expected her to yell at him for being an arse, maybe even about leaving Hermione, but he hadn't expected her to fight for _them. _Not only that, but it seemed like Ginny had spent a fair amount of time developing counter-arguments for every single one of his. And he was losing ground quickly.

Ginny stepped closer; they were hardly a hand's breadth apart, and Harry had little choice but to meet Ginny's gaze. He was having trouble breathing with her so close. He dug his fingernails into his palms, preventing his hands from reaching out of their own accord.

"It's a war, Harry. You can't keep everyone safe."

"I can bloody well try," he said, his voice tight.

"What if I die anyway? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life hating yourself for not fighting for every single minute you could get with me? Every touch?" she whispered, placing her palm lightly on his chest. "Every kiss?"

"Ginny-"

"Because I don't. "

Her lips were soft on his, softer than he remembered, and Harry had been pretty sure he'd scorched the sensation onto his brain. The real thing was _so_ much better. She was intoxicating. The kiss was chaste, but it still sent electricity crackling across his skin.

Ginny pulled back and met his gaze, looking, for the first time, uncertain. "And I love you, too, idiot that you are. Just think about it, Harry."

Ginny tried to leave again, but hadn't gotten two steps before Harry wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her to him, pressing her close. There was nothing chaste at all about this kiss; Ginny had opened the floodgates, and Harry wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get them closed again. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

Her hair was softer than anything catalogued in his memory when he finally, finally plunged his hands into it. And when Ginny moaned, echoing Harry's exact sentiments, he thought his heart might explode.

Needing air, they separated. Ginny's lips were swollen and her cheeks were flushed. Harry thought she was gorgeous. She straightened his glasses with an indulgent smile.

"I promise I'll make it up to you," he said.

Ginny smirked. "Keep kissing me like that and I may forget what we were fighting about."

Harry grinned, and kissed her again.

xox

Hermione's stomach grumbled, but she did her best to ignore it. It had been difficult enough working with Draco in such close proximity without having to worry about being hungry as well. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but every time she opened her mouth the words stuck in her throat. She had also spent as much time sneaking furtive glances as she had working. The worst part was that Draco had obstinately refused to look her in the eye since that morning.

Hermione shivered, remembering _how_ Draco had looked at her that morning.

With a huff of frustration, Hermione slammed her book closed. "Draco, we need to talk."

_There._ She said it.

"I think I found it," he replied, never removing his eyes from the article he was reading.

"What?"

Draco grabbed the map on which Hermione had been marking potential sites and pointed to the red 'X' drawn there with the words 'Cliffside Ruins' next to it. The island was one of the smaller, southernmost islands and was basically unpopulated.

"Why did you label that site?"

Hermione, momentarily taken aback by Draco's abrupt speech, hurried to answer. "There are ruins there, but no-one knows of what. Local historians suspect they date to the fifteenth or sixteenth century, but there are no records anywhere of who built it or why, or what happened to it. They're just there. Why? What do you have?"

Draco shoved the article in front of her. "Ten years ago a couple of wannabe paranormal investigators spent the night there. They both ended up spending the next six months in a mental health facility. According to one of the guy's girlfriends, they both couldn't stop babbling about how late they were for their dentist appointments."

Hermione's eyebrows reached for her hairline. That was a little extreme.

"That's not all," Draco continued. He flipped through a short stack of newspapers he had set aside, and pulled one out. "Two years ago, an Irish couple were hiking on a nearby island when they saw this huge house set on the cliffs. By the time they dug out their binoculars to get a better look, all they saw were the ruins.

"I think the first two were suffering from prolonged exposure to a weak Muggle-Repelling charm," Draco finished triumphantly.

Hermione thought he may have been on to something. "Considering the charm may well have been cast over four hundred years ago, that is a definite possibility. Without anyone to renew the spell, it's probably barely functioning, but because they were there all night, it had an extreme effect on their minds."

Struck with an idea, Hermione reached for a book she'd discarded over an hour ago, and flipped trough until she found the page she was looking for.

"Do you know what Muggles see when they look at Hogwarts?" she asked, spinning the book around to show Draco the photograph. It was an old black-and-white of the Cliffside Ruins.

Draco smirked. "Ruins, of course."

Finally, _finally,_ she and Draco made eye contact. Her heart beat a little bit faster, and itchy fingers wanted to reach out to him, to tell him by touch what she couldn't quite manage with words. The world always made sense when she was touching him, as scary as that was.

Cautiously, Hermione summoned all her Gryffindor courage and slipped her hand into Draco's. His eyes darted to their joined hands like they were some foreign thing. Hermione held her breath, her eyes locked on Draco's face, trying to read his reaction.

Draco was confused.

He jerked his hand back, and stood up. Hermione wanted to scream.

Draco swallowed hard, and avoided looking at her. "I think I can hear Moody and Tonks. I better go check before they draw any more attention than they already do."

"Yeah, all right," Hermione replied, fighting to keep the disappointment from her voice. "I'll um, I'll pick up here and meet you out front, yeah?"

Draco nodded and left, taking Sirius' jacket with him. Once he was out of sight, Hermione slammed her forehead down on the table.

_Well done._

_I hate you._

X

It had sounded like an excuse, but Draco really had heard something that sounded suspiciously like Moody's tell-tale footsteps coming from the entrance. His hypersensitive ears had picked up the faint sound, even through several rows of bookshelves. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the interruption. If Hermione kept looking at him like that, he was going to go right out of his head.

"Hey," Draco greeted, entering through the door behind Ms White's desk, which was empty.

"Wotcher," Tonks replied. "We were just coming to fetch you."

"Any luck?" Moody said. He and Tonks were both looking a little windswept.

"Yeah, actually. We think we found it, on a little island just north of Hoy. There are some pretty interesting witness reports to back it up, too."

"That's awesome!" Tonks said cheerfully. "Now we won't waste the whole day wandering aimlessly around in that god-awful wind."

Moody grumbled something unintelligible, and Draco smirked.

"What was that, Mad-Eye? I couldn't _quite_ make that out."

"Where's Granger?" Moody replied, ignoring Draco's bait.

"She's in the back, gathering our things. She should be here in a moment."

"Oh, hello," Ms White said, emerging from the opposite door Draco had, which led to the public library section of the building. "I thought I'd heard voices." She gave Tonks and Moody a sceptical once-over. "May I help you?"

"Harriet and I were just finishing up was all, and I wanted to thank you for all your help," Draco said smoothly.

"Harriet?" Tonks mouthed silently, arching a magenta brow. Draco shot her a play-along-with-it look.

"Oh, it was a pleasure, David. I just hope you found something useful for your research."

"We did, thank you."

Ms White looked around the room, a confused expression on her face. "I say, have you seen Joe? I've found the book he asked for..."

Draco's stomach lurched. He had disliked that man the instant he set eyes on him. Something about him was just... off.

There was a muffled cry followed by a loud crash from the back of the building. Draco sprinted off toward Hermione without a second thought.

The table was overturned when Draco arrived, which was most likely the crash he had heard. Joe had Hermione cornered behind it, wielding a knife. His nose was bleeding, no doubt Hermione's doing, and he looked like he wanted to rip her apart with his bare hands.

Draco hesitated to draw his wand. Because Joe had chosen a knife as a weapon, Draco couldn't be sure if he was a Muggle or a wizard.

What happened next happened so fast, none of them really had time to react.

Joe lunged at Hermione with the knife, aiming for her abdomen. Hermione side-stepped swiftly, and brought both her fists down on Joe's wrist. The blade clattered to the floor. Before he could rightly recover, Hermione aimed a powerful roundhouse at his head. His head snapped back as her boot made contact with his jaw, but he kept his footing.

Draco was amazed. That was a blow that would've had any ordinary man out cold on the floor. Draco moved around the table, out-flanking the other man.

Joe took a half step back, shaking his head to clear it, oblivious or uncaring of Draco's new position. His attention was all on Hermione.

Hermione closed the space and threw a solid right, but this time Joe was quicker. He stepped smoothly to her right, grabbed her arm, and twisted it down. In the blink of an eye, Hermione had been immobilised. She also had no access to her wand, as it was attached to the arm that was currently pinned painfully behind her back.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Then a wand materialised in Joe's other hand. He jammed it into Hermione's throat. Draco put his hands out front, in a placating gesture.

"Oi!" Tonks shouted. Moody and Angela White were right behind her.

"Joe!" Ms White said in astonishment. "What are you doing?"

"What do you want with me?" Joe shouted at Draco, eyes flashing.

Draco was confused. "You're the one who's attacked my friend, mate. Now, what say you put that wand away, and we talk about this? Calmly."

"Joe," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "I swear to you, we don't know who you are. We're just came here to resea-" she broke off with a whimper as Joe twisted her arm ever further.

Draco's gut twisted and he took an unconscious step forward. He wanted to _do_ something.

"How stupid do you think I am, Keeper," Joe snarled into Hermione's ear.

"What are you t-" Hermione tried again.

"Shut up!" he shouted. "Did you think I wouldn't spot you? I saw your mark when you offered your hand to Angela. Murdered my mate, you did, but I won't let you finish the job!"

Draco's brain was whirling and his heart was beating so hard in his chest he thought his ribs might bruise. His eyes flicked to the labyrinth on Hermione's wrist. Keepers, marks, murdered mates... none of it made any sense. Was this guy crazy, or had they really missed something?

"We didn't come here to harm you," Draco said, his voice low and steady. He had to deescalate the situation.

"You!" Joe said sharply, turning his wand on Draco. "You're a traitor to your kind, throwing in with their lot!"

Draco froze. "What do you mean?"

Joe snorted. "The nose never lies, brother. And I can smell you all over her." He brought the wand roughly back to Hermione's throat. "Do you love her? Would it cause you pain if I killed her? Would it rip your heart right out of your chest if you had to watch this pretty little thing die in your arms?"

The words stuck in Draco's throat. He just didn't know. The thought of not having Hermione in his life was nauseating, but did he love her? Draco didn't want to think about it.

"No-one is going to die today," Draco said, now having to force his voice to remain even. He took a deliberate step forward.

"Get back!" Joe shouted, turning his wand once again toward Draco.

Hermione brought her foot down viciously on Joe's, and then threw her head back into his face. He released her arm reflexively, his hand flying to his mouth.

Hermione dropped to the floor, her hands covering her head.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Tonks shouted.

Draco's feet were in motion as soon as Hermione made her move, and by the time Joe's wand had flown across the room Draco had closed the space between them. He dropped his shoulder and ploughed into Joe's chest, tackling the older man to the floor. They wrestled briefly, but Draco's youth quickly won out as he pinned Joe, face-first, to the floor.

"Well done, cousin," Tonks said, moving in. Restraints in hand, she secured Joe's hands behind his back and yanked him up by his shirt.

Draco went straight to Hermione. She was on her knees where she'd fallen and was gingerly cradling her right arm. He put his hands on either side of her face, making her look at him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she replied tightly, obviously in pain. "It's just my arm – I broke it last night so that hurt a bit more than it should've done."

"You broke your arm," Draco said, a little annoyed. He hated how Hermione always down-played everything.

"Well, Harry fixed it for me and it didn't hurt so I forgot about it until Joe over there tried to rip it off."

"Potter," Draco said flatly. Naturally.

"Focus, Draco," Hermione snapped. "Harry is the least of our problems."

Draco looked past Hermione. Tonks had set a chair right and had bound Joe to it. Moody was in the process of cleaning up the mess from the overturned table.

Angela White looked ready to faint. Numbly she stared at her feet where Joe's wand had landed. She picked it up and turned to Joe, who was still muttering invectives under his breath, and tugging half-heartedly at his restraints.

"Why did you point this stick at that girl?" she asked, her voice small, confusion etched all over her face.

Joe just glared.

"And you," Ms White continued, pointing the wand at Tonks. "You shouted that funny word and made it fly away."

She wheeled around to face Hermione. "And what did he mean 'you killed his mate'? Who _are_ you people?"

Draco felt it was time to intervene. They had all been so caught up in what was happening that they had forgotten Ms White was even there, never mind Muggle.

"A case of mistaken identity, I'm afraid," Draco said smoothly. He stood and crossed to her. "But nothing you need worry about. We have everything well in hand."

"But—"

"See the girl with the pink hair?" Ms White nodded. "Believe it or not, she's a police officer." Discretely, Draco plucked Joe's wand from her fingers and pocketed it. "Now, do you know what would be really helpful? A pot of tea."

"Tea?" Ms White replied, still slightly dazed and obviously trying to wrap her brain around what she had seen.

"Yes, please." Draco even smiled for her, which seemed to convince her he was trustworthy. She departed without further argument.

"Nicely done, cousin," Tonks said.

"She's nice enough," Draco said. "Too bad we have to Obliviate her."

"Never mind the Muggle," Moody said. His mad eye was spun in the back of his head, keeping watch over Joe. "What are we going to do with him?"

"I could bring him to Azkaban," Tonks suggested.

"No," Hermione said, climbing to her feet. "Bring him to Azkaban and there'll be witness statements and inquiries, and none of us need that exposure."

Draco heartily agreed. "Not to mention what Joe might tell them himself. There's just too much we can't control."

"Hello, Square One," Tonks said.

After a moment's silence, Hermione retrieved her bag and withdrew a leather bundle. Draco had never seen it before. Unknotting the ties, she rolled it out on the table, revealing a row of pencil-thin glass phials, each containing a liquid of a different colour. She removed the purple phial and unstoppered it.

"Someone open his mouth, please."

Moody obliged, holding the man's head back with one, and pinching his nose closed with the other. He struggled, but Moody had the advantage. Hermione swiftly poured the entire contents down his throat. As soon as the liquid was swallowed, Joe slipped into unconsciousness.

"Dreamless Sleep," Draco said.

"Yeah," Hermione said, looking sheepish. "I've kept a full supply of potions in my bag for years. Never know when one might need something."

"How long until it wears off?" Moody asked.

"About eight hours. It was a pretty concentrated dose."

Then Hermione flicked out her wand and waved it at Joe's sleeping form. His bonds vanished and he toppled to the floor. Hermione removed a leather billfold from his back pocket, flipped him over, and pulled a set of keys from his front pocket. She looked pleased.

"Looks like he's been living as a Muggle for at least ten years. And here in Kirkwall," she said opening the wallet and reading his identification card. She held up the key ring, looking mischievous. "Bet you a Galleon he's got a vehicle nearby."

"What're you getting at?" Moody demanded.

"Okay, I have an idea. Obliviate Joe, and Draco and I will take his car and leave him at his house. You guys stay and deal with Ms White, then we'll come back and get you, and we'll drive his car to Houton where we can catch a ferry to Lyness."

"I am not getting in one of those ridiculous Muggle death-boxes," Draco declared. "Besides, can you even drive one? Because I doubt any of us can."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Would you rather walk? Because it's nearly ten miles. And yes, a bit. It's not rocket science."

Draco was unconvinced, but couldn't deny that he'd rather chop of an arm than walk ten miles in that wind.

"Quit whinging, boy," Moody barked. "It's a good plan, Granger. We'll meet at the Apparition point in thirty minutes.

Hermione beamed and reluctantly met Draco's gaze. Draco scowled, but picked Joe up in a fireman's hold.

"You coming?" he called making his way to the door.

Hermione followed, then jumped ahead to open the door and let them outside. They found Joe's vehicle around back. It was a big Jeep; Draco deposited Joe in the backseat.

"Thanks," Hermione said, watching him across the bonnet.

"What for?"

She hesitated. "For coming to rescue me."

Draco swallowed hard. Like he could have done otherwise. "Don't mention it."

* * *

Thanks for reading another monster of a chapter. And I promise Draco and Hermione won't be acting so stupid for much longer, so don't riot on me ;)

Endnote: All right, you picky canon sticklers ;) I know that it has never been established for certain that Godric's Hollow is in fact in Wales, and that there are numerous arguments either way. However, I had to pick _somewhere_, and Wales made as much sense as anywhere else.


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